


Father Brother Lover Mother

by Reichu



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brother-Sister Relationships, Childhood Trauma, F/F, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Freudian Elements, Gender Dysphoria, Human Aliens, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Incest, Past Lives, Species Dysphoria, Transgender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 72,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23098693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reichu/pseuds/Reichu
Summary: Kaworu Nagisa approaches Misato Katsuragi, bearing secrets from the day of Second Impact. As Misato investigates the mysterious boy, she discovers that she's had a hidden connection with him all along, and the Katsuragi name carries a far greater weight than she ever knew. Everything is not as Misato thought it was... SHE is not who she thought she was.
Relationships: Adam/Dr. Katsuragi, Kaji Ryouji/Katsuragi Misato, Katsuragi Misato/Nagisa Kaworu
Comments: 16
Kudos: 34





	1. Tabris

**Author's Note:**

> I've accepted that _Crying Man_ just isn't ready to happen, and so I've allowed myself to scratch the same general itch with a new, much shorter story. For those who don't know my tendencies, I absolutely love the idea that Dr. Katsuragi was the donor for the contact experiment with Adam. It has IMHO fascinating repercussions for both characters and lore alike. This story will explore both angles with, I hope, equal levels of passion, focusing on the two (extant) characters most impacted (nyuk nyuk) if the "donor = Dr. K" premise is accepted as true. Those being, of course, Misato and Kaworu.
> 
> Tags such as "Misato/Kaworu" and "incest" are included for the sake of fair warning, even at risk of giving the wrong idea. This is not a shipping fic; it does not exist to promote these two as a couple, but to examine a hypothetical scenario in which they develop an interpersonal relationship, in all its uncomfortable, emotionally confusing, and (at times) genuinely sweet splendor. Given Misato's well-documented (but oft-denied) proclivities, I quickly realized that her at least *making an attempt* to sleep with Kaworu was inevitable. The emotional arc of the story was sculpted accordingly. If you are like me and use writing as a safe way to explore and understand the world, including one's fellow human beings, then my motivations here should be fairly relatable. More is gained from embracing uncomfortable topics than shunning them.
> 
> I fully expect the depiction of Kaworu to be contentious with some. Since the character makes such a limited (however impactful) showing in the original series, license must be taken to imagine the character as a complete person, and, being the writer and all, I'm inevitably inclined toward the "Kaworu Nagisa Within Reichu". I suppose in a similar way as Kaworu has helped some LGB people discover themselves, I -- over the course of many years of inventing weirdly passionate head canons about Adam/Kaworu -- finally realized I was unconsciously revealing myself as well. I'm not ashamed to admit that Kaworu here incorporates much of me; his various forms of alienation from self and others are channeled from some rather dark and painful places. 
> 
> In any case, I hope that the effort to sensitively explore angles and topics that may have received little (if any) acknowledgment in the original work resonates with others out there.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of a personal tragedy, and the promise of finally being released from a life of sorrow.

Hidden from the sun and the sky and the eyes of the world, the containment facility for a highly classified and dangerous life-form lay in utter ruin.

The containment itself hasn’t been breached. But everything inside it is demolished, as if the most violent storm passed through. Cast asunder by the devastation are the shattered fragments of a short and unfortunate life.

The environment is fully self-contained, made of densely layered, heavily reinforced materials. Given the scale — suitable for a person’s living space — it feels rather excessive. The place has an overall sterile feel, though it looks like effort has been made over a prolonged period to give it touches of “home”.

The sheer variety of objects and artifacts scattered all over are a testament to the specimen’s complexity. Plush animals, other toys, books, musical instruments… most in varying states of destruction. Crushed electronic devices. Boxes of syringes tipped over. Miscellaneous other medical equipment. A wall-sized mirror, mostly shattered. A child’s drawings, representing various stages of development, many held together with clumsily applied tape, most with puzzling visual contents. Strange and unrecognizable series of characters burned into the walls, mixed haphazardly with German, Japanese, and English.

One section of wall is untouched by the maelstrom of devastation, and there hang two mysterious photographs. The glass of the frames is starting to crack, but not as a result of forces directly applied. The objects appear cherished.

In one photo, an albinoid child no older than five sits in the lap of an older woman, holding a calico kitten; the scene is idyllic, and all pictured seem to be at peace. In the other, a young adolescent girl and a tall middle-aged man with delicate features pose together against an unfinished wall, neither seeming entirely happy to be there. The girl is outwardly surly; the man smiles, but his eyes are full of sadness. Both wear some form of semi-casual uniform designed for warmth.

A lock of gray, very faintly lavender-hued hair falls to the floor. Then another. There are indistinct gasping sounds, as if someone is crying. As the breathing gets more haggard, a pile of hair rapidly accumulates behind a pair of pale feet.

A scrawny figure of ghostly complexion, almost completely nude, with the appearance of a human boy stands in front of the shattered mirror. He beholds a distorted form topped with hair now shaggy and uneven. Blood-red eyes look back at him. It’s not so obvious that he’s been crying, not when his eyes have always been red.

He senses someone approaching and quickly asserts a modicum of composure over himself. An armored shutter opens. A figure in an elaborate motorized chair appears — an old man, with some kind of device attached to his head, covering his eyes. A couple of armed guards follow, who remain by the door as the man in the chair approaches, carefully navigating the debris on the floor.

The old man pauses a moment to regard a patch of floor caked with something dark and sticky-looking. Lying there is a roughly cylindrical piece of metal, slightly less than one meter in length, with one end somehow twisted into a point. It’s stained the same dark color.

Then, from a distance that provides some illusion of safety, he says, “Tabris… Are you feeling any better today?”

“Yes,” the specimen says, offering a false smile. “Yes I am, Father.”

“Good,” the man says. The visor over his eye line partly obscures his expressions, and with it some of his intent. But the specimen can tell that “Father” is staring at the bandages. Sure enough, the man adds, “You’ve healed by now, I would think. Let me see.”

The one identified as “Tabris” has no desire to comply — but it’s simpler. It’s _always_ simpler. He unwinds the bandages from around his chest, exposing what lay beneath. There is no sign of injury, not even a hint of scarring.

“Good,” Father says again. “I’m glad you’re alive, Tabris. I hope you know that.”

Tabris says nothing at first. But, knowing what is expected of him, he eventually performs for the old man. “So am I, Father.”

“I know how much it hurt you,” Father says. “Feeling all of their pain at once. Not being able to do anything to help them.” The man’s voice is harsh and cold, now as much as ever. Tabris has browsed the archives enough to know that Father was a numb, performative machine long before he was forced to replace much of his body with robotics.

“I could have done something long ago,” Tabris says. “I’m very powerful. You all know I am. But that power helps no one as long as you hold me here.”

“Your importance can never be understated. It would be so easy for you to be lost again. And, this time, for good.”

Tabris protectively wraps his arms around his lower chest. The act serves no real purpose in this body, yet it continues to feel right. As right as anything _can_ feel. “I would rather be nothing than be this,” he retorts. “I existed for _them_. Not to hide myself in the dark with no concern but self-preservation… condemned to simply watch from afar as they cried out in terror and pain for the one I am meant to be.”

“Tabris… Nerv is a dangerous enemy that we’ve been forced to ally with all these years out of brute necessity. Their predecessors sabotaged the efforts of your father… your _real_ father. We’ve been fighting to make things right ever since.”

Tabris stares vacantly at the portrait of father and daughter.

“Right now they are at their weakest. It is your time to strike and take back what is yours. The remains of your true body, guarded in their underworld. Your children wait for you… We _all_ wait to become your children.”

Tabris absentmindedly lets a finger run down the left side of the photographed man’s face, like a caress. He smiles, and this time it seems to be real.

When he does this, it becomes clear that he and the man are dead ringers for one another, differing only in age, haircut, and pigmentation. Tabris has always known this, and he looks up into an intact tract of mirror to cherish this similarity.

“So I’ll meet them all again very soon,” Tabris says. “And our suffering will be over.”

The old man provides no response. “Get yourself ready. You must appear before the council one last time.”

Tabris’s smile vanishes. “I see.”

Father and his men retreat from the compound. Tabris is once again alone.

He’s spent most of this existence alone. But soon it will all be over.

Only once more must he subject himself to the Patriarchs' fourteen-year campaign to mold him into their own image… pretending to appeal to his higher instincts and innate greatness while clandestinely planning to sacrifice his identity and capacity for independent thought to the false god they worship.

He has no interest in their machinations. Once he has made his journey to a distant land, he’ll be free of them forever. The only truth he can trust lay deep within. Whatever is right, whatever is wrong — he’ll let his soul guide him.


	2. Letting Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misato's revenge is almost complete, but her life is empty.

A tall thin man covered in blood-soaked rags holds a limp girl to his chest, and forces his way one step after another through hell on earth.

When they get there, he lays her into the capsule and threads his necklace around her limp neck, fastening the clasp with uneasy fingers. He beholds her for a moment, and drops a single blood-stained tear upon her cheek.

Misato stirs awake and turns to him. He is smiling at her gently. But he looks so far away. Blurry. Like he’s entering another world.

“Father?” she whispers. Knowing what happens next, she lifts one of her arms and holds onto the upper edge of the capsule, blocking the shutters.

He looks surprised. “Misato, no…” He wraps his thin, tattered hands around hers. “No. You have to let me do this.”

Here, the pain from her wound doesn’t matter. She springs up and wraps her arms around him. “I won’t let you!” she cries. “You can’t leave me too!”

Tears flow from his gentle long-lashed eyes. He returns her embrace, and says, “This isn’t what I wanted. This was never what I wanted. But now... there’s no other way. You have to let me go.”

“I won’t,” she says, pressing the side of her face against his and digging her fingers into his hair. “You’ll stay with me. You’ll see me grow up. I won’t hate you anymore. And you won’t be afraid of me anymore.” She wipes the tears from his eyes. “See? They’re clear. You won’t die. Not here. Not now.”

It’s true. Suddenly his wounds are gone. He is pristine and beautiful.

“Misato...” he says, at a loss for words.

She feels her body burgeon, freeing itself from the shackles of girlhood. In haste, Misato starts to remove her clothes. Her father’s eyes grow wide. Misato thrusts her face upon his and at last tastes his beautiful mouth. He doesn’t resist. No — he reciprocates. Abruptly overcome with intensity, his lanky frame bears down upon her, and they share a true adult kiss. She places his graceful hands upon her swelling breasts, and with practiced motions he lets himself enjoy them. As his lips wrap around one of her rosy buds, she attempts to hike down her too-tight pants.

“I want you,” she moans. “I’ve always wanted you.”

Her father’s hands run down her new curves and grip her waistband. She’s able to start wiggling out. His breath rasping, his lips seek hers again. Her neck veers to the side as she squirms, and his kiss lands there. And he makes it count.

_Too much. It’s too much._ “Father...”

He issues a delicate moan as he inhales deeply of her. “Misato... You’ve become so much like her. But you’re also so different. The unique product of the love we once shared.”

“I’m better than her,” Misato says. “I’ve hurt you, Father… I’ve hurt you so badly… But I’ll never hurt you the way she did.”

His gorgeous brown eyes fill with tears of joy.

She wraps her legs around him. “Don’t hide anything anymore. Let me feel you. All of you.”

He pulls back just long enough to pull off his shirt, revealing a boyishly skinny physique. His height and shoulder span indicate he is all man, however. The message comes through even stronger with the next article of clothing he removes. There it is. It’s right there and it’s all for her.

He eases her back into the open capsule, and gently climbs over her. Her hips lift toward him, yawning with desire. His face comes down to hers, and they exchange another impassioned kiss. All the love they had been denying one another floods out. He draws his body down upon hers and then…

And then…

A giant of pure white light hangs over them, its blood-red eyes staring out from its enormous skull, seeing all.

***

After her early morning rituals, Misato beholds herself in the bedroom mirror, as she has countless times before. She looks rundown and ragged. Older than her years. She replaces her father’s necklace around her neck, white cross-shaped pendant hanging from its chain. A symbol of sacrifice and all that is holy. And also a symbol of the demonic beings that ravaged her life.

The cross marks her father’s sacrifice. So too does her scar. As severe as her wound was, it was nothing compared to what he suffered. A hellish sight: shredded alive, the life oozing out of him. A frail yet tender smile on his mostly-intact face was all he had to give her before shutting her out so her eyes couldn’t linger.

Her memories of that day are spotty at best, but she knows he had shielded her from something. And somehow, even after that, he got her to safety. He had been a weak and cowardly person as long as she’d known him — but in the end, he uncovered a strength nobody knew he had. He sacrificed himself for her.

No sooner had he shown her true paternal devotion than he was violently ripped away. She knew what was responsible. She knew what was unleashed that day. Adam and its kind would pay for what they had done.

The 17th Angel, said to be the last, will attack soon. She’ll see to its destruction. But what then? The First Angel, or at least what’s left of it, is crucified in Terminal Dogma. She saw it with her own eyes. Once it has finished serving its purpose as a lure for the other Angels, what will Nerv do with it? She worries that Commander Ikari and Seele have big plans for it. _What_ , exactly, she can’t begin to imagine. But these past few weeks have rapidly expanded her notions of what’s possible, and thanks to Kaji she’ll continue to get closer to the truth, no matter what it takes.

And then there is the matter of the Evas. They, surely, are the missing Second Angel. It makes too much sense to not be true. Until the First and 17th are destroyed, Misato will need them. But after that, she will make sure that the Evas are destroyed as well. Even if it costs her her life, she will see to it. Only then will her revenge be complete.

Transiently, she thinks about what Ritsuko said about the Evas having people inside them. “Salvaged souls”. What does that mean? Would she be a murderer for ordering their destruction?

It doesn’t matter. There’s no point in thinking about it.

Clasping the cross within her palm, she thinks, ‘Just a little longer, and then you can finally be at peace.’

***

The apartment is empty. Ghostly quiet. She already relocated Pen Pen to the Horaki residence. Asuka is still missing. Shinji has been avoiding her, and she can’t blame him, after what she did. Or tried to do, anyway. He seems to be using his emergency quarters down in the Geofront, only rarely coming back to the house to collect more of his things. They should probably make the move-out official, but that would require facing one another after all that's happened.

Desperate for someone's voice, she goes to the kitchen table, where Kaji’s last message to her lingers. She's heard it countless times already; it never seems to be enough. Her index finger wanders toward the playback button… but she can’t do it. There’s no point in trying to hold onto him any longer. He’s gone, while she’s still here.

Misato tries to imagine him now inside her heart, but, already, he's collapsing back into the man he was always a proxy for. Did she ever actually love Ryoji Kaji? She honestly doesn’t know, and that makes everything so much sadder.

At least, in death, he's no longer cursed to pine after a disgusting person like herself.

Misato deletes the message, setting him free. The counter resets to zero. All returns to nothing.

Only then does she realize that she never did ask Shinji where Kaji’s flower garden was hidden. For the best, really.


	3. Psycho-Hazard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghosts from the past come a-haunting.

In the wake of the Sixteenth Angel’s destruction, the Research & Development department has become unusually busy — and secretive. More than usual. The briefings that Misato received were full of omissions, but as least _some_ details were made available to her.

The event has been, rather ominously, designated the Near Third Impact. When she was in the Command Center, watching it unfold, it honestly wasn’t clear what was happening, or why. A sense of both utter eeriness and total urgency comprise most of what Misato remembers. But the enormous growth that spontaneously erupted from Eva-00’s back, and was reabsorbed moments later — she remembers that. And she remembers the all-too-familiar shapes that were emerging from it.

Nobody acknowledged it then, and nobody wants to acknowledge it now, either. She’s starting to think maybe she imagined it. But the designation “Near Third Impact” implicitly admitting that the event had Impact potential — _that_ suggests she didn’t.

And there is another important inference to be made: the body of Adam is _not_ an essential ingredient. An Impact can be set off without it. But how, exactly? With her clearance level, she can’t get any answers. Someone in her position, high-ranking or no, just doesn’t need to know. (Complete bullshit, in her humble personal opinion.) All that matters is that everyone feel an appropriate sense of danger and keep their guard up for the final Angel’s appearance.

Even though they’ve appeared only one at a time, it’s been deduced that the Angels have some unknown mechanism by which they accumulate collective knowledge. The way they have gradually trended toward greater and greater sophistication and social intelligence _does_ seem to support this idea. It’s for this reason that the Final Angel will, without fail, be the most dangerous, as its direct predecessor almost achieved an Impact _using the very Evas meant to defeat it_. And as far as anyone can see, the only reason it was thwarted was due to the will of a pilot. If that variable is accounted for by the next Angel… is there any way they can fight back at all?

Nerv’s entire anti-Angel machine is on the cusp of complete failure. Maybe it’s already there. But there’s nothing she can do about it.

And as if she doesn’t have enough shit to worry about, headquarters decides that this is a good morning to call her. She’s told that an unexpected anomaly has been detected over the inundated crater, a team is being organized to investigate, and she’s expected to be there. Misato doesn’t need any convincing, really. She hastily finishes getting ready and hops into her car.

***

Once there, she, like everyone else, puts on the standard orange hazmat suit.

“This must be _some_ ‘anomaly’,” she grouses to Hyuga. “What’s really going on?”

He finishes securing the head piece and activates his speaker system. “I basically just got here myself, but I’ve heard the science team throwing the term ‘psycho-hazard’ around.”

“What is that?” she asks, yanking the suit up past her waist. “Not related to psychic contamination, by any chance? ……Would be kind of fishy if it _wasn’t_.”

He shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine, Major.”

Without a true director for Research & Development to make on-the-fly judgments about what data to share with other departments, Misato and Hyuga are effectively forced to piece together whatever they can from eavesdropping. The concentrated layers of jargon make it nearly impossible, as always.

The members of the survey team are loaded with all sorts of bizarre instruments. Who the hell even _knows_ what they’re measuring for. The personnel divide into two group, with one investigating a roughly ring-shaped area around the crater — from the shoreline out to a distance of 380m — and the other sweeping the crater-lake on boats. Hyuga goes with the former, Misato with the latter.

Misato pretends to be useful, like every other time they’ve deployed her with a science survey team. The situation honestly has no right to be this boring. Something very strange happened the day Rei Ayanami died; this mysterious ‘psycho-contamination’ proves it beyond all doubt. Rei was able to contain the Angel long enough to destroy it — but what if she didn’t destroy it completely? It’s no coincidence that Eva-00’s blast zone is what’s being checked. None at all.

Eventually, she bothers Lt. Ibuki, with whom she’s sharing a vessel. “Do you guys more or less know what’s going on?”

“Well, Major Katsuragi...” Ibuki seems to be combing her mind for what she’s allowed to actually say. “Yes, I would say that some kind of picture is slowly coming together.”

“That’s good,” Misato says.

“ _But_... we’re really not equipped to deal with the problem properly. Not an occurrence of this magnitude. Not with the resource and time crunch we’re under.”

“That bad?”

“It’s the kind of problem where… like…” She fidgets with her pen. “…nothing will happen right away, but it has the potential to be _devastating_ later.”

The side of the boat knocks into something, prompting Misato to look. A weirdly shaped rock? Or some kind of statue, _maybe_? With the impact, more of it is crumbling into the water, so it’s hard to tell exactly what it is.

The vessel quickly course corrects, and Misato returns her attentions to Ibuki. “I see,” she says.

“I’m sorry I can’t say more,” Ibuki says, genuinely apologetic. “I really wish Dr. Akagi were here.”

“Me too,” Misato admits.

***

Ultimately, the actual extent of the psycho-hazard area is identified, and the whole area is barricaded with fences along the shoreline and floating barriers in the water anchored to lake bottom. Trying to seal in a metaphysical phenomenon with physical objects feels extraordinarily foolhardy, but maybe there’s something about the material in the barriers that makes a difference. The survey team _w_ _as_ perfectly okay with going out there in just the hazmat suits, so maybe there’s something to it. Misato has no real idea.

Afterward, Misato and Hyuga leave the psycho-hazard area separately and, following through with previously made plans, reconvene at the main station to the Geofront. The car train provides an ideal location for exchanging intel, something she’s sure the Intelligence Department knows, but they can’t stop her from trashing any planted bugs she finds, either. Looking for them on the regular has been ingrained habit for a long time and she’s quite good at it. Hyuga is even better.

Hyuga has always been an excellent _kouhai_ , an honest and diligent worker with a seemingly unconditional willingness to please. His crush has always been obvious to Misato, though ever since Chief Inspector Kaji’s “disappearance”, he’s _really_ been pulling out all the stops. His optimism is charming, in its way. Unlike many men, Hyuga would never do anything uncouth or make any unwanted moves; he just doesn’t have the disposition for it. That sense of security makes it all too easy to take advantage of his loyalties.

Misato feels kind of bad about stringing him along, giving him all sorts of shady tasks, knowing he won’t reject any of them… but the ends justify the means. He _is_ really good at what he does, and not tapping into his talent would be foolish. Besides, how _would_ she even reject him, without hurting him needlessly? He’s a good man; he doesn’t deserve to be hurt by someone like her.

The platform starts moving down. Misato cracks open a canned coffee. “So, what’s your take on all of that, Hyuga-kun?”

He laughs. “My honest assessment is so ridiculous I’m not sure I—”

“Try me.”

“I mean…” He scratches the back of his head. “From the stuff I was overhearing… It legitimately sounded like the place was haunted by ghosts. Crazy, like I said.”

Misato thinks. “Maybe that isn’t really so crazy, though.”

“Oh?” he says. “What are you thinking, Major?”

She taps her lip with an index finger thoughtfully. “The shapes of the defeated Angels were definitely emerging from Eva-00, so maybe…” But already she’s second-guessing herself. “No… That can’t be it. No additional A.T. Fields were detected, right?”

“Right,” Hyuga says with a sharp nod, “but that doesn’t necessarily tell us much. Like, say, what if the 16th’s own field was obstructing our instruments?”

“Is there any evidence for that, though?”

“Eva-00’s A.T. Field was completely neutralized,” Hyuga says. “It wasn’t able to cancel out the Angel’s field at all. Not only that, the Angel extended its ego threshold to the limits of Eva-00’s.”

Misato crinkles her brow trying to interpret that. “You mean...”

“Exactly,” Hyuga says, adorably optimistic about what Misato might have said next. “It means the Angel’s field would have completely encased that weird growth. If there were other A.T. Fields inside it, the Angel would have been able to contain them there. Prevent them from interacting with sensors.”

“But we still had visual confirmation that something was happening,” Misato says, frowning. “What would be the point?”

“Maybe…” Hyuga thinks. “You know that ‘accumulative memory’ theory that’s been bouncing around since way back? Maybe the 16th had the memories of the virus one.”

“The 11th, you mean?”

“Yeah. That Angel was right inside the Magi. It would have known all sorts of things about us, like our primary means of detecting Angels.” He adjusts his glasses. “So, if its knowledge was somehow passed onto the 16th...”

“Then it would have already known of a way to conceal its activities from us. It could have been resurrecting the dead Angels, and we wouldn’t be able to confirm it until it was too late.” She strokes her chin. “Ghosts, indeed?”

Hyuga leans back, sighing. “ _Really_ horrifying if you think about it too much. The idea of dead Angels haunting the crater is the stuff of nightmares. And the way that day might have turned out if the 16th Angel wasn’t destroyed — even more so. But that’s the kind of world we’ve been living in, I guess.”

“It really is.” Misato taps the steering wheel, lost in thought. “That’s really fascinating, though. I never thought about it much. The whole ‘memory’ thing.”

This has her wondering, now, if the 11th had anything to do with the 14th’s mysterious decision to attack the command center. The moment was so terrifying Misato never much contemplated the “why” of it. But the Angel would have no reason, based purely on the information it could have gathered through its own means, to break away from its descent to Terminal Dogma — would it? It feels incredibly unlikely…

“They’re so mysterious,” Misato muses. “There’s so much about them we still don’t know. And now may never know, I suppose, with only one left...” She sounds remorseful. Even with her vendetta, a part of her _has_ to admit that something incredible is about to be lost from the world forever. There’s something very sad about that.

“So much that _you and I_ don’t know,” Hyuga jibes. “R&D knows plenty, I’m sure.” He takes a look at his watch, prompting Misato to do the same. They’ve still got time, but budgeting it is important. “So, uh, not to change the subject or anything, but I have some new stuff...”

Misato practically bounces in her seat. “Oh? Let’s hear it!”

“Nothing too interesting… Mostly just a couple of things they haven’t bothered to share with us in Tactical yet. I know you’ll appreciate the first one. Apparently Intelligence Division 2 has the Second Children in their custody.”

“Asuka?!” Misato says. Immediately, she reins it in. “What took them so damn long?? It’s been over a week since they claimed they lost her!”

“A week exactly,” Hyuga corrects, “but, yeah, it’s lousy either way.”

_Huh._ It’s felt like so much longer than that. Misato’s getting her personal and professional lives mixed up again. Asuka started disappearing from the house intermittently right after the 15th Angel assaulted her. Those weeks were nothing short of a total shit show. Misato was way too fucked up herself to do anything for the girl. Not an excuse, by _any_ means.

A tragedy, is what it is.

When Misato doesn’t say anything for a while, Hyuga adds, “They’re probably trying to spite us here in Tactical. It’s just like them.”

Misato jolts back into the moment. “So, uh, what was the other thing?”

“The Marduk Report for the Fifth Children should be showing up at any time. It also sounds like he’s in the process of being shipped here, but that’s all I could find. The kid’s information is guarded like nobody’s business.”

“Being _shipped_? Are we talking about a _pilot_ here?” After a moment’s thought, her eyes roll and she groans. “Oh, please don’t tell me it’s another Eva-02 situation… I could _not_ deal with those smug assholes again.”

Hyuga shrugs. “You got me, Major. I am merely a messenger.”

***

Hyuga’s intel is substantiated, as it almost always is, when Misato arrives at her office, and a copy of the latest Marduk Report is waiting for her on the desk.

_Just like Hyuga-kun said_ , she thinks. She sets her bag down, retrieves a canned coffee from it, and settles into her swivel chair. As she takes the first sip, she pulls the report closer.

What she sees is such a visceral shock that she only narrowly avoids complete disaster. She’s able to set the can back upright before too much leaks out, and only a little got spit onto the front page. Feeling desperate for the quickest fix possible, she uses a spare shirt she has stuffed away in a drawer to soak up the mess, and then she pulls that report right up to her face.

Her fingers are digging so hard into the pages that the bundle creaks.

As with all Marduk Reports, the pilot’s photo is clipped to the front. Standard ID photo, taken from the front with the subject in formal dress. The Fifth Children… A fine-looking young man with delicate features and an impish grin, his unruly hair conveying an untamed heart… Right away, he emanates a sense of the uncanny. The feeling is so pervasive that Misato can’t even begin to place it. There’s a sort of angelic beauty to him, like he’s not quite human. His pigmentation is eerily similar to Rei’s, so maybe there’s something to that. But, no… This isn’t simply a matter of otherworldiness.

It’s also one of inexplicable yet overwhelming familiarity.

In haste, she flips through the pages, hoping for any kind of hint that would release this tension. Name: Kaworu Nagisa. Born and raised in Germany. No relations listed. As with Rei, his personal records deny him a past; aside from a couple of items, the little that’s there is recent.

The medical records are a complete joke, as well. He’s listed with a diagnosis of “Impact Syndrome” — same as Rei. This supposedly accounts for their strange outward characteristics, which aren’t _medically_ albinism (Ritsuko has corrected her on this more than once!) and only happen to _resemble_ that condition. Obviously, Impact Syndrome isn’t real; it’s nothing more than a smokescreen. Hyuga’s attempts to dig into it have only turned up dummy cases, false records with no correspondence to actual persons. Not beyond Rei Ayanami and, now, Kaworu Nagisa.

With the amount of secrecy surrounding Nagisa, there’s no way Misato could have ever seen him before. And yet… she _knows_ she has. _Some_ how. Her intuition is screaming it on all frequencies.

She distracts herself with some other paperwork for a while, hoping the answer comes to her if she gives her mind room to breath. It works; she lights up with sudden epiphany.

“Kaji-kun??” She rushes back to the report and stares intently at the Fifth Children’s mug shot. There _is_ certainly a Kaji-like quality to those beguiling eyes, that puckish smirk, the messy hair, but… no, that can’t be it, either.

One other possibility lay at the very edges of her consciousness, fuzzy yet insistent. Before it can even reach her waking mind, the scars upon her soul seize that inkling, and force it back down into the dark depths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is probably "talkier" than it should be, and I apologize. I promise the payoff will be worth it. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> In case you're wondering: the "psycho-hazard area" actually is from the anime. It's never explained even a little, of course, but it's there. "Impact Syndrome", on the other hand, is just something I made up. Retroactively finding a place for the term "Near Third Impact" in the original series is also my invention, but you've got to admit it fits unnervingly well......


	4. The Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fifth Children arrives at Nerv HQ. After Misato is entrusted with a special mission, he begins his approach.

Tabris sets foot upon the shore.

Without inhibition, he removes his footwear and allows himself to savor the sensations of the sand and the surf. He’s felt them before, but never in this lifetime, nor ever in a body quite like this one. Fourteen years, he’s been denied most opportunity to experience the differences.

Now, mere days remain before all that opportunity is gone forever. A source of mixed feelings. Mostly ones of unbound jubilation. But sorrow, too, because of what this body represents. They might meet again, but under circumstances ushering in unprecedented change. This is Tabris’s last chance to experience the world much as _he_ had.

An ocean breeze picks up, caressing his face, and pushing the qualia of the moment into perfection. Soon enough, this state of the sublime is shattered by the impatience of his minders, eager to remind him that his life is not his own, and that all human experience must conform to an arbitrary map of time constructed by emotional tyrants.

As Tabris is led toward the terrestrial transport, he gazes behind him at the marine birds assembling in the morning light, envying their obliviousness to uniquely human cruelty, and pitying their lack of any say whatsoever in the future that is to come.

***

“The Fifth Children has been officially handed off to us,” Aoba says. “Intake process starting now.”

Misato has been anxiously hanging out in or near the Command Center ever since she received word that his transport arrived in Japan around 07:00. “I see,” she says, continuing to nurse from her mug of coffee. No part of her is looking forward to the rest of the day, but she can’t show any fragility. Following intake, the Fifth will be under her command. She can’t let weird gut feelings get in the way of professionalism.

Curiosity gets the best of her. “Can we get him on the main screen? Let’s see this kid.”

Within seconds, multiple camera feeds appear on the wraparound. Lt. Ibuki and various other staff are accompanying Nagisa past the gates, presumably heading to Security, then to Medical after that. He’s wearing a blue-and-green uniform variant she’s never seen before. Visually, it reminds her a little of a fighter pilot, while also clearly being a throwback to the uniforms at UN Underground Base 02. Hopefully it doesn’t have the heat-retention properties of either…

“Huh,” Hyuga says. “They gave him an actual pilot uniform. Why didn’t Shinji and the others ever get those?”

“You got me,” Misato says. “It’s not like it was never suggested. They just never wanted to approve of the additional expense.”

“The Fifth Children is special enough to warrant it, I suppose,” Aoba pitches in. “His security detail was insane and he didn’t even have an Eva being transported with him.”

“I know, right?” Hyuga says. “Did you see—”

Misato knows the two of them keep talking, but she doesn’t hear them. She’s staring fixedly at a camera feed providing a close-up, front-angle view of the boy. The feeling of deja vu is kicking in hard again. It’s not just his face that’s eerily familiar. It’s everything. The way he carries himself, his body language… levels of minutiae she can’t even find words for… She’s almost terrified now to hear him speak.

Nagisa suddenly stops now, even though the group has provided no cue for him to do so. Like he just heard something odd.

Then, his neck swivels, and he looks over his shoulder at something.

At first, Misato doesn’t realize. But then her eyes wander over to the main camera feed for that room.

It’s like he’s looking straight at her.

This time, the coffee drops, and she isn’t able to catch it. It goes all over the floor. Doesn’t get on any consoles, thankfully.

“Crap…!” she says, immediately scrambling for something to clean up with. Misato lets her eyes dart back to the main screen for just a split-second, but Nagisa has already moved on.

The guys see what happened. “Don’t worry about it, Major Katsuragi,” Hyuga says, rising from his chair. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You really don’t have to, Hyuga-kun…” Misato says. “It was just me being careless.”

“I don’t _have_ to,” he says, “but I _want_ to. Besides, cleaning up your messes is part of the job.” He winks.

She feels herself blush, just a little. God _damn_ , he’s getting daring, isn’t he? Well, she doesn’t mind; the distraction is nice. She’s able to smile, and after the weirdness that just happened, that’s no small feat. “Thanks, Hyuga-kun.”

***

The paperwork from Nagisa’s processing is waiting for her, fresh off her office printer. She compares what’s there to what Lt. Ibuki told her to expect, and everything does seem to be in order.

Supposedly, _all_ of the new records have been provided to her, since she’s Nagisa’s senior officer and all. But as she scrutinizes the contents more carefully, she can’t help but feel like something very, very big has been left out. After Ritsuko revealed the truth about Rei to her and Shinji, does anyone seriously think they’ll be able to play this game again with Nagisa? But, then again… the intel department made it clear what was at stake for her if she failed to uphold silence about what she saw that day. Officially, Misato doesn’t know shit; she has to keep mum, even to Hyuga. Certainly, though, they don’t believe they are _actually_ fooling her. This is all theater.

And there’s nothing she can do about it.

Just yesterday, they finished reconfiguring Rei’s test plug to enable her to practice with Eva-01. They already forwarded urgent requests to the Nerv branches — other than those in Germany, which provided aid recently — for _any_ thing they might have that would help HQ fill the gap left by Eva-00. Misato of course knows that many of them are constructing actual Evas, but the request was phrased under a pretense of mere optimism. None have answered that call, and so Rei has been reduced to nothing more than a spare for Shinji. In less than an hour, Shinji will perform his usual sync test, and Rei will test the functionality of her refitted plug.

What about Nagisa, though? One very gratuitous omission that Ibuki already brought up with her is that Nagisa was sent without any core data. They’ve been given absolutely no basis upon which to reconfigure Eva-02 for his use. The incompetence is simply astounding — send over a new pilot, but completely neglect to provide any way for him _to_ actually pilot. R&D got in touch with Germany, and supposedly the “real reason” for this is that they were only recently given access to Nagisa themselves. The core configuration data will be sent over as soon as it’s ready, they said.

It’s rather transparent bullshit. Maybe not to everybody, but certainly to Misato. Down in the abandoned Gehirn facilities, Ritsuko laid bare the lie that the Evangelion pilot interface is a ‘Personality OS’ based on a close relative of the pilot (preferably the mother), supposedly used as an intermediary between the pilot and Eva to reduce the strain on the former. Like all effective lies, there was a little bit of truth in it, but now Misato knows: that’s no mere “data” inside the cores. Unless Germany plans to wire them a literal human soul, which sounds outlandish even by Nerv standards, this is all just a distraction.

Her phone starts ringing. She breaks from her train of thought and answers. It’s Hyuga.

“Major Katsuragi, we’re getting ready over here. How do you want to handle the Fifth Children for the sync test? He’s requested to participate in spite of the hangup with his core. Wants to start getting a feel for his new routine, he said.”

She considers this. “I don’t suppose it could hurt any.” And if this is all precisely as fishy as it seems, they might as well get it over with. “Let’s see what he can do.”

***

Not only is Nagisa able to produce _any_ sync ratio at all, what he gives them is nothing to sniff at. For what’s supposedly his first time doing this, and with a core he should have no compatibility with, it’s nothing short of suspicious.

The Deputy Commander verbalizes Misato’s thoughts. “This shouldn’t be possible. Not with the current core.” Given Fuyutsuki’s actual discipline, if _he_ thinks this shouldn’t be possible, that removes any and all remaining doubt that a huge piece of this picture is missing. “Double-check everything,” he tells the technicians. “Retake all measurements from the bottom up.”

“But sir,” one of them protests, “there’s no hint of any malfunction. The First and Third Children are producing the expected data. Our instruments are working fine.”

“Do it anyway,” Fuyutsuki says. “A full recalibration.”

A thought suddenly comes to Misato, and she lets herself muse out loud. “You don’t suppose the Fifth could be related to Asuka?” Is _that_ why he seemed familiar? She can’t think clearly at all right now.

Maya promptly chimes in. “He lived in Germany all his life, didn’t he? That doesn’t mean anything on its own, but… The Major’s suggestion would certainly go toward explaining why he’s compatible with Eva-02’s current core.”

Fuyutsuki’s face becomes more severe. “Have your people pursue all potential leads, Lt. Ibuki. We don’t want to rule anything out.”

“Yes, sir.”

***

Misato takes her leave as soon as the tests have finished. No lingering around. She doesn’t want to leave any possibility that she might bump into the Fifth Children. She just wouldn’t be able to deal with that today.

Before she can get very far, however, she hears the Deputy Commander’s solemn voice calling out to her.

“Major Katsuragi… I would like a word with you.”

At first, she can only assume the worst. Does he know? About all the shady things she’s been up to? But, then, if he does know, why wait until right this particular moment to talk to her about it? She puts on her best facade of decorum. “Of course, Deputy Commander.”

He ushers her to a quieter part of the corridor and there, in hushed tones, he says, “Due to Dr. Akagi’s unsolicited actions, you are in a unique position among most of the staff. You know that there is something suspicious going on here.”

Hiding her feeling of overwhelming relief as best she can, she replies, “Yes, sir.”

“Until such time as the Final Angel reveals itself,” he continues, “I would like you to do an independent investigation.” Then, with a subdued wink, “I’ll pull on Intelligence’s leash a bit. Report back to me with your findings. Understood?”

“Yes, Deputy Commander.” Misato bows. “Thank you, sir.”

He nods, folds his arms behind his back, and departs as if nothing of importance had just happened.

***

Misato takes her lunch to one of the small employee parks up top and, just as planned, finds her co-conspirator there.

“The Deputy Commander _what_?” Hyuga says. “That’s crazy.”

“Is it really?” Misato asks. “It’s no secret that he and Commander Ikari butt heads frequently, even _if_ they have their own language with each other.” She breaks open a bag of bread. “There must be something the Commander isn’t telling him. I can’t think of any other reason for him to use me of all people.”

“There are plenty of agents with a basically nonexistent profile he could tap into.” Hyuga scratches his chin. “Using you doesn’t make any sense. As some kind of set-up, _maybe_.”

Misato clears a couple of crumbs from her blouse. “The Deputy Commander never struck me as that kind of man.” Then, grinning, “You can tell just looking at him that he was dragged into his position kicking and screaming.”

Hyuga laughs. “Yeah, I can see that. Wasn’t he a teacher once? Hard to imagine him in charge of a class.”

“I guess all of _us_ are his class now,” she says whimsically.

“I _guess_. So are you going to do it?”

“I can’t rightfully refuse, can I?” Misato cracks open a coffee. “And besides… He’s not asking me to do anything I wasn’t planning to do anyway.”

Hyuga’s face turns severe. “Don’t think you have immunity from Intel because of this, though. It could still be a snare.”

“I’ve made it this far. I’ll be okay.”

For a moment, the two of them eat their lunches together in quiet. Hyuga is looking around, very slowly and deliberately. Eventually he leans in toward Misato, careful to keep his mouth covered, and he whispers, “I found out where they’re keeping Ritsuko-san.”

***

On the way back to her office to finish up some paperwork, Misato notices someone standing right in the middle of the corridor up ahead, facing her direction. When she gets a little closer, she sees it’s the Fifth. He’s like a sentinel, completely still, back perfectly straight. Both hands are hidden in the pockets of his uniform jacket. He unflinchingly looks straight ahead.

It feels like he’s staring right at her. _Into_ her, even.

She must be imagining it, though. Just like that oddity of coincidence with the camera feed earlier. Surely, he’s just waiting for someone else. But if so, this is a strange place to do it. She doesn’t allow herself any eye contact and proceeds to walk past him as quickly as possible.

As she passes, his head pivots and he spins around. She stops and looks behind her.

“Major,” the boy says by way of greeting.

“Oh? Were you waiting for me?” Misato faces him. “We’re done for the day, Nagisa-kun. You can spend the rest of the time however you like.”

He simply stands there, continuing to look straight at her. Like he’s expecting something. The silence and eye contact endure slightly beyond the point of simply being awkward. In haste, Misato attempts to redirect him in some way. “I assume you’ve already been told that you’ll be privately tutored at HQ, due to all the public school closings? You could study with—”

“Misato Katsuragi, lone full-Lilin survivor of the Second Impact.” There’s an irritatingly broad smirk on Nagisa’s face. “You may not remember me. But I remember you.”

 _The hell did he just say?_ “Have we met before? Was it when I was stationed in Germany?” She frowns dubiously. There’s no way she'd forget someone like Nagisa. 

Nagisa goes on. “He wanted you to see a bright new future take wing. On that day, his eyes were resplendent with joy and hope. But yours were full of anxiety and fear. For the man you thought you hated.” His red eyes become uncomfortably intense. “For the physical god you could not believe stood before you.”

The words leave Misato so dumbstruck she can’t articulate a response until whole seconds after Nagisa has finished speaking. As her face contorts in a motley of fear and anger, she growls, “What the hell are you even saying?” A horrible feeling is crawling up the inside of her throat. “Who _are_ you?!”

He provides no more reaction than a sly grin. “For now? I am whomever the Lilin want me to be.” The boy casually strolls off. Misato doesn’t attempt to stop him.

Her head starts to feel light very suddenly. Crossing her arms in self-embrace, she rests her back against the wall, and slowly sinks down, eyes staring blankly ahead.


	5. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conspicuous gap in Misato’s memories leads her to a desired revelation.

After what the Fifth Children said to her, Misato knows she can’t stay there any longer. Not today. She doesn’t even touch the paperwork — she goes straight home.

Her mind a fatigued and muddled mess in need of a respite, Misato pampers herself as best she can. She takes a nice, long bath. She forces herself to prepare some _real_ food, even if it isn’t anything fancy. She goes to bed early.

But it’s no use. The supreme uncanniness of Kaworu Nagisa, and the creepiness of his completely unprompted words to her, run around her head in circles, purposelessly, like a dog chasing its own tail. She tosses and turns for one hour, then two, dreading the inevitability of her old night terrors coming back. Everything she worked so hard to leave behind is being forcibly dredged up. All the horrors of September 13, 2000 A.D., and everything that day took away.

She finally gives up. It’s just not happening. Maybe she needs to watch some TV, or catch up on her magazines… take the skateboard out for a spin… _something_. Let her mind calm a bit.

Dazed, she rolls open the fusuma and starts going down the hall. Past the bathroom, past her folks’ room, out into the main living space. She settles in front of the TV, clicks it on, and is about to turn the volume up when she hears something behind her.

Repeated creaking and thudding. Grunting. Gasping. Moaning. She recognizes the voices, both of them. She freezes up and her throat goes dry.

Of course she knows what’s happening, over there in the kitchen. But she’s curious too. Gross as it is, she’s intensely curious. So she can’t stop herself from looking.

Misato sees her father’s completely naked figure, standing up against the kitchen table, torso stooped forward. He’s _so thin_ , more than she thought he was. The man is so utterly divorced from reality that he can’t even remember to feed himself, but she didn’t know the problem had gotten _this_ bad. And yet, in spite of that, he somehow has the vim and vigor to hold both of Mom’s legs — flailing around in his arms, toes curling — off the table while thrusting into her with a level of consistent force she’d never think him capable of producing. His grotesque body is glistening with sweat, and the repeated flexing-relaxing of his butt muscles is nothing short of hypnotic. She can barely see Mom, but she can definitely _hear_ her, moaning like she’s being literally stabbed over and over, between breaths egging her husband on with whispered erotic demands. Dad is moaning too, but he’s showing at least a _little_ modesty about it, as opposed to making sure the entire block knows they’re doing it.

Misato can’t hold her gaze longer than a couple of seconds before she has to look away, clutching her head on both sides. She can’t believe she looked even _that_ long. She just wants to tell them to stop. She shouldn ’t have to see _that_. She shouldn’t have to even _know_ about it. Why does it have to be a choice between _this_ and Mom barricading herself in her room to sob because Dad isn’t putting out? What the hell is even _wrong_ with adults?

What the hell is wrong with her for wanting to keep watching?

Suddenly, her father calls to her between belabored breaths. “Misato… This is the future I wanted you to see. Don’t look away.”

Slowly, she turns back around, and with great trepidation looks in the direction of his voice. The kitchen can barely be called that anymore; it’s changed somehow. So, too, has her father. His movements are far less frenzied. It’s almost as if he’s enjoying himself and savoring the experience — _isn’t_ just trying to get Mom off his case. But it’s strange. All sorts of weird red wires are attached to him, concentrated along his spine. As her eye follows them up toward their source — a gigantic scaffold high above their heads — they’re bundled together into multiple larger cords with spiral cross-sections. His left arm reaches behind him now to scratch his back, and something about it doesn’t look right, almost like it’s… translucent? _Just_ the one arm. 

While still thrusting slowly, he bears his torso down sharply now, almost losing his footing. Misato can see Mom’s legs wrapping around him like a snare from below. Father’s scrawny arms reposition, keeping his chest propped up. His head leans in, like they’re kissing, and now a pair of powerful white hands seize the back of his head and cling to his shoulders, their touch inciting the red cords to thicken and move further into his body, spreading into him like roots. He moans very loudly now, and it’s entirely unclear if it’s a sound of pleasure, pain, or both.

Wait… _White hands?_ Now she realizes, the legs are the same color. That’s _not_ Mom. And, listening again, the moans aren’t right either. They’re pitched super-deep, to the point they don’t even sound human.

“Misato!” her father cries. “I found you a new mother!” He’s repositioning himself now, bearing all his weight on his right arm, but she can’t see what he’s doing with the left. She can hear low, contented rumbling coming from whatever he’s screwing, though. Grunting with exertion, and voice turning manic, he spurts, “We’re making a little sibling for you, just like you always wanted! Say hello to **Her** , Misato! Say hello to your new mother!”

Misato gets to her feet and starts backing away. “No! I don’t want to see that! I don’t want to see any of the things you brought me here to see!!”

She bumps into somebody, and she quickly looks up behind her. It’s her father’s best friend. He was always so nice to her, it was easy to forgive him for being friends with an insane pervert. “Misato, you mustn’t run away from your father,” he tells her. “But above all else, you mustn’t run away from yourself.”

“No…” She tries to push past him, to the way out of here, but there _is_ no way out. Father’s people are everywhere, and they won’t let her leave.

“This is an abomination against nature, Misato,” Father’s friend says, “and I said as much, many times, but no one would listen to me. Nobody ever listens to me. Now I have to stand here and watch this, same as you. We have no choice. And when that monster decides to kill us all, we’ll have no choice but to die, either.”

Just then, the table rotates to let her clearly see what’s going on. It’s not actually a table at all, but some kind of fancy armature or rig. Her father, partly consumed by the freaky red stuff, lies on top of another, much bigger and paler body. The body of what can only be an alien monster — or maybe even a demon from Hell — harnessed into that armature. It’s uncannily human in shape, but nothing is _quite_ right. All the proportions are too elongated. Its muscles are perfectly formed, like a marble deity … but when stretched over that distorted skeleton, all beauty is lost. There’s some kind of shiny red ball in the chest, with strings of flesh growing into it from all sides. Nothing short of gross, especially the way her father is stroking it, like he’s trying to get the alien off or something. From the slack-jawed look on the creature’s face, he just _might_ be. God, that face. It’s like somebody stripped all flesh off a human skull and then put _just_ the skin back on. The big round eyes stare at her, nearly motionless; cold and reptilian despite their intensely red irises.

It’s the ugliest thing she’s ever seen.

Her father’s left arm isn’t the same as it was before. Now it’s more… milky-looking? His hand is leaving sticky residue on the red ball. Gross. He’s still going at it, too. Still thrusting into that… _whatever_ it is. It doesn’t look female at all, but, if she’s honest with herself, it doesn’t look male either. It just doesn’t look like anything. Does it have any holes at all? It must, because her father’s thing is repeatedly going _some_ where.

The awful vocalizations of both parties indicate they’re getting close. She’s heard her parents enough times to know. Father’s motions intensify. The creature clings more forcefully to him. They’re giving each other the tongue, and it’s disgusting. The monster’s eyes are lighting up and bulging grotesquely from the sockets, and some weird gill-like things are popping open on the sides of the neck. Father heaves and moans and jabs himself into that alien’s hole harder and harder. The pale creature starts shuddering creepily, and it bellows, so loud it hurts her ears. Both it and her father are suddenly encased in a thick haze, like a fog or something. She can barely see into it, but she can still hear, and the inarticulate announcement of her father’s climax is loud and clear.

All of the red cords that had been sticking out of him fall limply to the ground, blood oozing from the connectors. She looks back up, and when the haze dissipates, the monster and her father are gone. Where they used to be, there’s just an egg. A single dark, oblong egg. Nothing more.

She slowly walks up, incredulous. Where did they go? What is this egg? She picks it up — it fits easily in her hands — and draws it toward her face to take a better look. But immediately it starts shaking and cracking.

Yelping in surprise, Misato drops it. The egg falls to the floor and shatters.

When she looks down, all she sees is a broken mug and the steaming-hot coffee that spilled from it.

***

Misato wakes up drenched in sweat, splayed out in front of the TV, some inane old B movie playing. Rubbing her side, she drags herself up, and becomes acutely aware of her throbbing headache. Misato seizes the side of her head and whimpers. Too much coffee and not enough water. She brought this upon herself.

She stumbles toward the bathroom and pauses in front of the door, bringing her hands to her knees, breathing deep and trying to find her bearings. Her brain is finally catching up. She was having a pretty messed up dream, just a moment ago, wasn’t she? What the hell even was that? The _fuck_ is wrong with her brain? To make matters worse, she’s certain that this dream is, at least in some aspects, a place her mind has been before. Here, on the verge between sleep and wakefulness, where one can briefly look over the wall of the conscious mind upon the normally inaccessible dreamscapes of the past, she knows most of tonight’s terrain is old and familiar.

What is her mind trying to tell her…?

After she’s done in there, she flicks the kitchen light on. Immediately, she notices that the pile of Shinji’s things she had left on the kitchen table is gone. He was here while she was knocked out. Was he creeping around like a ninja or something? She couldn’t have been sleeping _that_ soundly…

Misato brings a big, icy glass of water with her to the living room table. As she sips from it, she checks out the movie. It’s some black and white deal where aliens have come to Earth to steal people’s faces, or something like that. Pretty silly, over-the-top stuff.

Makes her think, though. She’s pretty sure her father was in whatever psychotic dream she just had. He’s been in plenty of her dreams. But now that she tries to visualize him while awake, she finds that… she just _can’t_. Not in full. There are lots of things she can remember about him, but in the part of her memory where his _face_ should be, there’s just ambiguity. It never struck her until this moment that maybe that might be weird.

That _is_ weird, though. _Really_ weird. Is she just having a moment here? This problem should be an easy enough fix, though.

Misato goes into her room and retrieves a little safety deposit box she had stashed away. With a key she keeps hidden in a kitchen drawer, she opens it. The box is stuffed with miscellaneous tokens of her pre-Second Impact life. Aside from what’s in here, Misato has her memories and nothing more.

She rattles the box, as if to assure herself that all of the heavier knick-knacks at the bottom are still in place. Satisfied, she pulls out a pile of photographs. Many of them are in poor condition — water damage, fire damage, bleaching, footprints, etc. — but every single one is an irreplaceable treasure, a snapshot of a world that’s gone forever. Misato feels warm, uplifting emotions and feelings of total desolation play tug of war over her heart. Her kick-ass aunt — owner of her own business, free spirit, no-nonsense but also fun; simply put, _the best_ — showing off her sweet European cars. Father’s best friend and his incredible family, who had helped her and Mom through the worst of times. The band of kind-hearted delinquents she used to hang out with. Teachers and friends at school; events, after-school activities, special accomplishments. Mom’s parents. Father’s parents, too — huh, she had completely forgotten that they were Christian. (Despite the necklace, Father sure as hell wasn’t.) There’s one photo of Misato as a very young girl with a puppy; she can’t remember any details there, but it’s the most adorable thing.

The two people who are missing from the main photo stack couldn’t be more obvious. But she knows she wouldn’t just get rid of _those_. She upends the entire box. The last thing to come out is a sealed and unmarked envelope. Yep, there they are. Without hesitation, she breaks the envelope open and reveals the contents.

Mom and Father’s photos are in here, all right. But, as luck would have it, not a single one is intact. Misato defaced — quite literally so — all of them years ago, under emotional circumstances she would rather not dwell upon much. Both parents had done seemingly everything in their power to betray their daughter’s love and trust, and — Misato had reasoned at the time — neither of them ‘deserved to be remembered’.

The _only_ reason her father ultimately comes out on top is because he didn’t die selfishly. Instead of giving in to his worst tendencies and letting them drag him under, he was, at the very end of it all, able to break free of his own curse and truly do something for somebody else. That is why Misato allows him to live on in her thoughts. In her eyes, his death was his redemption — _not_ the ultimate betrayal.

She feels the tears welling up inside her. But she denies her mother any power over her. That was the one vow she made that she’s been able to uphold. No matter what, she wouldn’t become like her mother. She wouldn’t cry endlessly over a man or anybody else. She wouldn’t give up on herself and the rest of the world. None of that. Misato shed tears for Kaji exactly once. Twice for Shinji — already one time too many. She can’t remember how many times she’s cried, thinking about what happened to Mom. But this won’t be another of those times.

She puts everything back in the box the way it had been, restores the box to its hiding place, and returns the key to its drawer.

So, _maybe_ she had been an overly temperamental teenager back in 2000. No big deal. She can just look up her father ’s personnel file. He has a record in Nerv’s database, as all members of its predecessor Gehirn do. She boots up her computer and logs onto the network. Once inside, she inputs their surname kanji, and… there he is. _Katsuragi, Dr. Akira_.

Given her father’s involvement with the _super_ -classified activities of UN Underground Base 02, Misato would have to be naive to think _nothing_ would be under lock and key. But she didn’t expect it to be quite this bad. _All_ photography and video footage is shuttered behind the top security level. There isn’t so much as a boring mug shot that she, Nerv HQ’s head of Tactical Operations, can access legitimately. Out of morbid curiosity, Misato looks up the records of his closest associates. Their photos are all there, but any number of _group_ shots have been subjected to censoring. Sometimes it ’s a blurred patch, sometimes it’s a black rectangle; but it’s always obvious from _some_ cue or another that Dr. Katsuragi is the person being omitted.

What the hell is going on? None of this makes any damn sense.

She tries going into the public news database and bringing up some old articles about him. _Anything_. They’re all censored — every last one. Her mind boggles over the logistics here. Just how extensive _is_ this campaign to erase her father’s visage from history? Maintaining an iron grip over archives within Nerv’s direct control, or at least sphere of influence, _fine_. But these efforts can’t possibly be complete. Her father has appeared in print (not just obscure publications, either), even on TV. He’s traveled and spoken at conventions in several countries, and any number of people could have photographed him. It’s just not possible to erase someone like him completely.

But, depending on the exact reason for all this, maybe they didn’t need to. Maybe the scrub job just needed to be “good enough”.

Surprisingly, Misato never attempted to look up her own father before. Perhaps it was because she simply wanted to feel rid of him, and not stirring up old shit was — when possible or practical — the easiest way to achieve that. So she didn’t know about any of this until now.

Part of her is strongly tempted to pull out the passkeys that Kaji gave her and use them right here and now. Bulldoze her way to the truth. But that would be stupid. The whole reason she’s been putting off a hack of the Nerv database is so that she can plan every aspect of it perfectly. She’ll have one shot to break in, securely grab the data, and get it to Hyuga’s contact in the government — all without getting caught. So of course she’s been waiting for the ideal opportunity. After the weirdness that she just discovered, though, she might not be able to wait any longer. She might have to create her _own_ opportunity. Whatever happens, though, she won’t let all the risks that Kaji took upon himself be for nothing.

_Kaji…_

Misato grabs the photo of Kaji, Ritsuko, and herself in college off its shelf, and she studies the face of her dead lover intently. She knows that she was drawn to Kaji in the first place because there was something about him that reminded her of her father. For a moment she wonders if it could be, at least in part, his appearance… but very quickly she strikes the idea down. She can’t remember _exactly_ what her father looked like, but she can recall much of what he _wasn’t_ . Now, of course, there _was_ a certain intangible _something_ that the two men shared, a feeling of similarity that transcended the superficial… but in terms of overall physique and composure, they couldn’t have been more different.

Her father was… _how to put this_ … on the effeminate side. Very delicate and pretty. She remembers teasing him about it relentlessly. Kaji had a robust and hardy appearance, but her father looked like he would shatter under the slightest pressure. And he _did_ , more or less — at least where private interpersonal challenges were concerned. In the public and professional spheres, things were _very_ different.

There, his beauty went hand-in-hand with his charisma. _Away_ from home, he was a super-attractive, hyper-intelligent, free-spirited, hard-working pariah of the theoretical physics world, and as idolized by young people as he was despised by the establishment. Misato hated having to hear about him from her friends and teachers, who always thought she’d want to see any publicity related to him, any at all. She didn’t. She _never_ did. What good were he and his super duper who-gives-a-fuck theory if he couldn’t even be there for her and Mom? Like, _really_ there. It felt like his only two modes were “ramble incessantly about work” and “run away and cry like a sissy behind closed doors because showing genuine interest in others is too hard”.

Not that she could remember ever seeing the guy actually cry, save for the day he died… Hiding behind a smile was his favored first line of defense. But it always felt like a reasonable deduction to make, for all sorts of reasons.

Just thinking about all of that again, she can feel the curdled resentment that’s still deep inside of her, stinking as bad as ever. But, somehow, the more angry she lets herself get at him, the more she wants him back. She’s been ready to open her heart to him for a long time now… Just cut the wound open and let all the poison out so they can both finally heal… achieve the catharsis that’s so desperately needed. But he’s gone forever, and it will never happen. She’s condemned to spend the rest of her days trying to exorcise his ghost from her life, over and over and over.

_His ghost……_

Suddenly, it’s like a long-blocked pathway in her memories is finally clear. _She can see his face again._ She can _really_ see him!! Her heart is already racing by the time she’s consciously processed this realization.

Her father’s facial features… they’re… _the same as the Fifth’s_. He’s older, of course, with skull grown to full adult proportions, and his accumulated years starting to show around his eyes, but, otherwise… exactly the goddamn same.

Misato’s first impulse is to reject the mental image completely. It can’t be right. It can’t possibly. That’s just stupid. There’s no way.

But the longer it sits with her, the more right it feels. The more she realizes she _can’t_ reject it. Even if she _was_ able to block it out for a long time … that’s just _him_ . That’s how he _always_ looked.

Already, images are coming back that remind her just why she put up that barricade in the first place. The very last time she saw him, he was—

Tears well up in her eyes and she’s overcome with nausea. She clasps her mouth and abdomen, gritting her teeth to get through this.

_Don’t think about it. You’re a big girl now; you’ve seen far worse things. Come on._

_You don’t have to hide him away anymore._

***

She takes a break to freshen up. It’s a nice enough night, so she enjoys an instant cup of noodles on the veranda. From here, she can see the crater-lake and the barrier around it, red warning lights spaced at regular intervals, ceaselessly cycling on and off. Even with all the weird shit she’s seen, it’s still hard to imagine that the Angels they fought, and _thought_ they destroyed, apparently still exist in spirit form. They’re all right there, lurking upon the lake, unseen but not undetected. Waiting for the last of their kind to come and save them from the void.

Fancifully, she wonders: could her father’s ghost still be down there, at the South Pole? Have he and the rest of the team been waiting patiently for their own resurrection? As little as she knows about the current state of the Antarctic, she is vaguely aware that the entire area is effectively in its own bubble. Everything within was completely transformed, and it never went back; the sharp division between that “Adamic world” and the rest of the world has remained perfectly intact ever since Second Impact. If the conditions have remained totally unchanged, does that mean the entire area is in some sort of stasis? Nothing’s able to live or grow, but nothing can deteriorate either? If true, would that mean…? How incredible _that_ would be……

The Angels… Her father… They’ve long been linked in her mind. All because of what happened that day.

On September 13, 2000, her father made her bear witness to an experiment, one where he had volunteered himself as a living human test subject. Adam, the First Angel, was there… connected to her father by way of a giant, nightmarish biomechanical rig. And now, fifteen years later, the existence of Kaworu Nagisa — a doppelgänger of her father with the blood-red eyes and ghostly pale skin of Adam — has been revealed.

Back then, nobody told her anything about what the experiment was for. What it was trying to achieve, or how. But, now, the pieces are _finally_ starting to all come together. Just a little more.

Just a little more, and she’ll have the truth she’s desired for so long.

Nagisa is surely in the know already. But she’s afraid of approaching the matter too head-on. That boy terrifies her on a level that shakes her all the way to the bedrock of her soul.

So, first thing tomorrow, she’ll go to Ritsuko instead.

***

It’s a callous thing to do — her old friend from college, awaiting her tribunal all alone in a dark cell, and Misato is visiting her not out of camaraderie or compassion, but because she needs something. Selfish as can be, but she’s far too close to the truth now to justify any personal restraint.

Acting on Hyuga’s intel, and using some of the clout that the deputy commander promised her, she’s able to muscle her way in. She finds Ritsuko simply sitting there with her back to the cell door, arms draped over her knees, motionless. The woman has been completely broken. Misato doesn’t even want to imagine what Ritsuko’s gone through that would destroy her spirit so completely. She’s heard some faint whispers, and… well, if they’re true, Misato can’t blame Ritsuko at _all_ for acting the way she did.

She’s here with a purpose, though, not to dispense pity.

“Ritsuko… I need to know something.”

Surprisingly, Ritsuko responds right away. “All conversations in here are recorded, you know.”

“Not this one,” Misato says.

Ritsuko shifts in her chair almost imperceptibly. “I see.”

Misato goes on. “What information do you have on the Fifth Children?”

“Why assume I have any?”

“I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today, Ritsuko,” Misato snaps. “We’re walking on a tightrope out here, so if this kid is a threat to Nerv, we need to know _now_. Who is he? _What_ is he? ‘Nagisa’ — that’s not _really_ his family name, _is_ it?”

The faintest intimation of a laugh. “You just came here to have me tell you what you already know, didn’t you?”

Misato’s fingers bunch tightly against her palms. “I want to know I’m not going crazy! What happened, Ritsuko? On the day my father died?!”

“You saw it with your own eyes,” Ritsuko says quietly. “You should know.”

The urge to slap her again is rising fast. “No one told me anything! I don’t know _what_ I saw!”

Ritsuko sighs. “I don’t know very much. But I understand that the team your father lead… their true goal in studying Adam was not _merely_ to unlock the secrets of the S² engine. It was to figure out a way to join Man and God.”

Misato’s eyes grow wide, and her hand slowly covers her mouth.

“The experiment that day… the one you were present for… According to what I’ve heard, it was a transgenic procedure. An attempt to recombine the genomes of normally incompatible organisms.”

“Using Adam,” Misato breathes, “and… and my…”

“Yes,” Ritsuko says. “Dr. Akira Katsuragi, your father.”

She stares at her feet. “So the Fifth Children, the reason he looks like that… The _real_ reason he’s so familiar… He’s—”

“—the half-brother you never knew you had. But probably also…”

Misato’s heard enough. She’s on the verge of shutting the cell door when at last Ritsuko murmurs something.

“…an artificial Angel to bridge Adam’s children and the final sacrifice. That’s what he is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is full of *Crying Man* Easter eggs. Though I guess many of them are for parts of *Crying Man* that I haven’t actually published yet, so… uh… at least you have all of those things to look forward to, maybe, eventually… 
> 
> I have slight apprehensions about the dream achieving what I want, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. The sequence is meant to be “cinematic” and “wtf” in that “Classic David Cronenberg” sort of way. A friend compared it to *The Twilight Zone*, and I suppose that works, too. 
> 
> Giving Dr. Katsuragi the personal name “Akira” is something I started back in 2005 or so. One of many “Western Eva Fandom” things that I can safely be blamed for. 
> 
> The idea of Ritsuko revealing something actually useful about Kaworu to Misato was stolen from the Sadamoto!manga version of the scene in question. Much as I generally don’t care for the manga, it does have its moments, and I did very much enjoy having Ritsuko bluntly state things about Kaworu’s origins that I had already pieced together from the typically Anno-esque (read: opaque as fuck) hints in the anime. (Smug self-satisfaction, and all that…)


	6. Grief and Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misato contemplates the mistakes of the past — and the possibility of not repeating them.

Misato retreats to the personnel parking lot and takes refuge inside her car. Hugging one of her knees to her face, and clinging to her father’s Greek cross, she struggles to process everything that’s just come to light.

Her father, Adam, the Angels, the Evas, Kaworu Nagisa. Because of whatever happened between her father and Adam on the day of Second Impact, Misato is connected to all the rest, so intimately that they might as well be family. And, in the one case, actually _are_. Her ‘vengeance’ scheme is finally exposed as the lie it always was. She was _very_ close to stumbling upon the full truth, back when she admitted to Shinji, “Maybe in the end I just want to get revenge on my father, so I can rid myself of him.” But now that she’s this close to having his curse lifted from her forever, she’s not sure she can deal with it. She’s not sure she even wants it.

Some of the last things her father said to her are echoing in her head.

‘ _I want you to see the bright new future take wing, with your own eyes._

‘ _Soon, Misato, very soon_ _… no one will have to cry anymore._ ’

Right now, it’s hard to keep herself from crying. Images from that day are flooding back through gates of memory she tried to weld shut long ago.

Her father’s figure silhouetted against the bright lights. The metallic-green suit with all its plugs and valves, clinging to his painfully thin body. Thick bundles of wires and cables, hanging like vines and sprawling across the floor. A vast wall of pale flesh that seemed to go on forever, violated with all manner of instrumentation. A giant, utterly terrifying face with huge red eyes and the visage of Death itself. Her father’s sad, soulful brown eyes, framed by shaggy purple bangs, looking her way… a weary but gentle smile on his lips, intended only for her.

During their last months together, Misato was cold to him. She no longer feigned filial reverence. The man wasn’t worthy of her respect, social mores be damned. Misato didn’t want to be down there at that godforsaken base where it was too dark and too cold, and the food was crap, and there were no other kids, and she had nothing to do other than study. She would have been perfectly happy staying with her aunt. As happy as she could possibly be given the circumstances, anyway. Mom, right before she died, had entrusted Misato to her sister. But somehow, Father got around that. Nobody knew how, but he did, and they couldn’t do a damn thing. Seemed he had made some friends in high places, and was totally okay with wielding their larger-than-life influence if it meant getting what he wanted. Unusually scummy for him; he’d shown no interest in custody — none at all — back when the divorce was actually happening.

Even though, on the base, Misato treated him as badly as she thought she could get away with, her father just kind of rolled with the punches. He kept trying to talk to her and spend time with her anyway. It was really weird and didn’t feel like him at all. But Misato refused to give in. All of this was his fault, after all. She wouldn’t let him reap any reward from the circumstances. If he had really wanted to show he cared, he would have dropped everything and come back to Japan. But he didn’t. Because none of this was about Misato, or him becoming a better father to her. This was just him selfishly using her to numb his own pain, without a single shred of regard for her own feelings. She might have only been thirteen, but his motivations couldn’t have been any more obvious. And _if_ he was in pain? Good! He deserved it. He deserved to hurt, and suffer, and keep _on_ hurting.

For the _most_ part he was as childishly self-absorbed as ever, not to mention mercurial: peppy and outgoing as long as he was surrounded by people who adored him, and a miserable wreck when he had nothing to lean on but his own troubled thoughts. But his extremes seemed _so_ much worse in those final months. And the whole time Misato was down there, Father’s mouth might have smiled, but his eyes never again did. They were always sad. Always. As much as Misato seemingly delighted in his emotional pain, it was actually kind of disconcerting, just how much Mom’s death changed him. _Some_ thing in him, _some_ where, truly did care about her.

Misato knew that the crew was preparing for a ground-breaking experiment. But she was just a “special guest” with very limited access to the facilities. She didn’t really know anything. Father became increasingly busy and appointed a trusted associate to keep an eye on her. One of the only Katsuragi Team members whose name she can remember offhand: Sakaru Tsubaki. He was some sort of multi-disciplinarian who led efforts to map the labyrinthine interior of GF-01 and engage in material analysis of the structure. She resisted him at first. He had a reputation as a grouch and pessimist, and it was obvious a lot of the crew didn’t like him. He quickly won _her_ over, though. More than most, he seemed acutely aware of the absurdities of the adult world. He always knew exactly what to say to Misato to make her feel better, no matter how bad her mood on any given day. Though he was on good terms with Father, he, like Misato, saw straight through the man’s bullshit. It was nice having someone there with a grounded view of the guy — neither overly reverent, nor critical without basis.

One thing about the upcoming experiment that Tsubaki didn’t even _try_ to hide from Misato was his complete and utter disapproval. Misato got the sense that he’d done everything in his power to dissuade Father from volunteering himself, and felt both disappointment in his friend, and an overwhelming sense of personal failure, that he had not managed to stop him.

Her father was an idiot. But she was an idiot too. And she only figured that out when it was far too late to do anything about it. It wasn’t until the day that it happened that Misato finally understood. Once she saw the true scale, and the pure concentrated _horror_ , of that experiment, she couldn’t get the thought out of her head that this was all just a very elaborate suicide. Misato blamed him for Mom, he _knew_ she blamed him, and so this would make everything “right”. Was this ‘bright future’ simply one where he didn’t exist? ‘Everything would be better if I were dead’, was _that_ what he was thinking??

She remembers now, after Adam started glowing and making the air uncomfortably warm, Tsubaki was the one who risked himself to disconnect Father. Everyone else would have left him down there to die, and, given the circumstances, they could hardly be blamed. But his friend saved him, and somehow Tsubaki convinced him to take Misato and run for the emergency life pods on the surface, in the facility where the S2  engine mock-up was being built. In the end, her father rejected the easy escape of death — only to be mortally wounded by a sudden and unexpected explosion.

In the moments between Misato accepting her father’s hand, and her losing consciousness, she filled her mind with silly fantasies to ward away the paralyzing nightmare happening all around them. They would escape from here. They would go home. They’d leave all of this behind… become a family again. She wouldn’t be mean to him anymore. He wouldn’t be scared of her anymore. They’d be able to talk about the boring everyday things, joke with each other, have fun together. Misato would get older and she’d start dating, and Father would tell her how nice her boyfriend was. Maybe Father would recover from his heartbreak, and he’d find someone again, and Misato would get a new mom, one who wasn’t always crying…

A beautiful dream dismantled with a single bloody tear.

Misato is clinging to Father’s necklace so hard that her knuckles have gone white. All the promises in the world can’t keep this pain dammed up. All at once, she starts sobbing.

“I hate you…!” she sputters between her knees. “I didn’t want you to die! I never _really_ wanted that! I just wanted you to be my dad… I wanted a future _with_ _ **you**_ _in it!!_ ” She butts her forehead against the steering wheel repeatedly, desperate to distract herself from what she’s feeling inside. It’s like there’s a knife in her gut being twisted round and round, and trying to pull it out would only make everything hurt more. Emotion overwhelms her senses to such an extent that it takes her several seconds to even notice that her horn is going off, let alone care enough to do anything about it.

After what happened to Mom… why, just _why_ , did he have to do what he did, and leave her all alone? Why did he think his own life was worth throwing away… at something like _that_? Why did he think Misato, the daughter who terrified him, who surely just hated him, needed to see it? Was he truly so deluded that he thought she would forgive him if he killed _himself_ too?

She had blamed _him_ for everything, but, really, it was all her _own_ damned fault. She never even tried to understand him. People would tell her how “sensitive” he was, and she just blew it off as the lame excuse it surely was. Misato’s total lack of empathy pushed him away and into acts of desperation. It was all on her. She didn’t do anything for Mom when _she_ needed it, either. After the divorce, all Mom could do was torture herself for giving up on someone she still loved — while Misato could only celebrate and look forward to life without _**him**_.

Misato was just a stupid kid who thought she was above it all, but, really, she didn’t understand anything. She brought that stupidity into her first and only relationship, too. Kaji — just like her father, a man Misato wounded deeply. And, just like her father, a man who ultimately threw his life away.

Suddenly, she thinks about how Kaworu Nagisa had approached her, and how she had responded to him with fear and rejection. It’s going to be the same thing all over again, isn’t it? If Nagisa ends up dead, surely it, too, will be her fault. Because she made him think he had no other option. She’s his only living family on Father's side, but the message she sent was, “You’re a freak, and you have no one.”

Through her tears, Misato can see the sweet allure of death. Just being released from all of this and never having to feel pain or fear ever again. Never again shedding a single tear over anything. Misato hates herself. She hates herself more than anything else in the world. None of her happiness has ever been real. She doesn’t deserve to be happy anyway.

But if she just gives up now… if she doesn’t keep on trying to become better, in spite of everything that’s happened… she’ll never forgive herself.

Misato clears the tears from her eyes, starts up her car, and heads for the nearest ramp to the Geofront surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, they aren’t even _Crying Man_ “Easter eggs” at this point. They’re just spoilers, full stop. But part of the reason I’m writing this story is to get myself interested in _Crying Man_ again, so I guess it was kind of inevitable. The events at the Antarctic base, ending with the contact experiment and Second Impact, would eventually be covered in Part II of _CM_. I’m currently stalled a bit over halfway into Part I. (Chapter 11, Tsubaki’s first appearance, actually exists NOW, but I never got off my ass and made the final refinements for publication. Get on my case about that, please.)


	7. Lifeshell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaworu contemplates the Lilin’s existence — and his own.

Tabris strolls beneath the big blue vault of an artificial sky.

The interior of this Lifeshell has been altered to make its subterranean conditions more palatable for Lilin. From what he knows about the surface of this world — tragically little in terms of first-hand experience —, this “Geofront” seems to be designed in imitation. Concentrated sunlight, transmitted through the subsurface and scattered overhead; the hemispherical vault given a reflective coating to crudely mimic an atmosphere; the once-dead earth conditioned, and large stands of coniferous trees established. The effort they have put into making a purely functional interstellar transport intended for a single humanoid passenger something they might find “comfortable” is strangely charming.

He follows a path into one of the forests. The first time he has set foot in one, here on this world. The path was not worn down over time by the habits of sylvan life, but was arbitrarily etched into the earth for the people of “Nerv” to tread upon in leisure. Tabris has encountered little in the way of animal life down here, aside from Lilin of course. But neither would he expect to, as this is not a true ecosystem, but false, like so much else in this underground.

One thing that is unchanged is the specific layout of plates in the vault overhead; the original material has been covered over, but the perfectly joined seams are all still exactly as constructed by the original architects. Fifteen years ago, with a different set of eyes, he looked upon a vault with an identical configuration. From the central section of “ceiling” — where his prior self had opened the dome of her own Shell to the sky with a stream of blazing photons — peculiar edifices hang through, dangling like stalactites. What utility could such things possibly serve? he wonders. Perhaps they were crafted not for any reason of practicality, but simply so that engineers could say they had accomplished the feat. There is a sense of child-like optimism that comes through in such extravagant frivolities. If resources can be spared for no other reason than to elevate spirits, then it is not truly a waste.

Even here among the densely layered evergreen needles, many eyes follow him. They follow him everywhere. But this is nothing new or unusual — he has been carefully watched for this entire existence. Not a single exterior moment has belonged truly to him. Even the contents of his spiritual interior have been subject to constant observation and meticulous measurement through every means the Lilin have at their disposal. Try as they might, though, there are some domains even they cannot violate. Sacred spaces that Tabris need only open to someone of his choosing, should he choose to share them at all.

He wonders if he should make another attempt to contact her — the one with whom this body shares a sire. Her response to him was entirely expected, and there is a strong temptation to languish in thoughts of futility and inevitability. But that would be far too preemptive a surrender. He has spent his time here at “Nerv HQ” thus far engaged primarily in observation of how the Lilin communicate with one another in nature. Perhaps there is a pattern he can yet detect, something he can use to minimize the fear response he induces...

There is no doubt in his mind that the Patriarchs intentionally withheld from him such basic working knowledge of their world in order to keep him isolated. Most of what Tabris knows about human interaction was not received in this life, but remembered from another one. However, as radically similar as all humans are to one another, successful communication is regrettably dependent on the most delicate of subtleties. One who does not receive appropriate social conditioning for a given group is fated to alienation. Lilin’s souls are hidden, as well, and not revealed through a core, so their ways are uniquely opaque and make primary contact more difficult to achieve.

As Tabris proceeds along the path, he lets his fingertips caress the trunks of the trees, taking in their individual growth patterns, unique arrangements of textures and colors… Like all life, they are possessed of elegant architecture and characteristic complexity. He can feel the soul flowing within each of them. In such beings, soul is much closer to its original state, something akin to a streaming fluid. The individual is not sharply delineated, if at all. At any moment, a cutting could be taken, capable of developing into a complete new being.

For humans, of course, this is not the case. A unique human being — both the body and the soul that inhabits it — is produced through an act of sexual congress. Lilin biotechnology can achieve the former, but it cannot consistently produce new souls through analogous methods. The body his soul currently inhabits is the wholly unique fruit of a sexual union enabled through entirely artificial means. Perhaps the paradoxical nature of his creation is why Tabris remained an empty shell long after conception, only being ensouled under laboratory conditions months later. Even he does not truly know, as the circumstances that produced one such as him had never occurred before, and were never made to happen again.

The chronometer mounted to his wrist issues a gentle alert. Presently he is expected to appear at a tutoring session, to be held on the second floor of the large pyramidal building. It’s not far; through the canopy he can see the reflective blue of its sloping outer walls.

Tabris advances out from the forest edge, and within several steps he finds that the soil underfoot turns barren. From the pattern of disturbance, this appears to be not the result of erosion or parasites, but born of a conscious desire to cultivate specific botanical forms. The most notable specimen is some kind of vine, a climbing plant… The fruits are quite large and globular, with a striped hull. A cucurbit, bred selectively by Lilin as a source of food. Its leaves and flowers look rather wilted; Tabris does not need to touch the plant to know that it is dying.

How very curious. Someone took pains to prepare this ground, sprout seeds, nurture seedlings that could thrive, and tend those young vines into mature form. But these fruits have simply been left here to rot. The end of this particular story must be a sad one. Years ago, when Tabris was still but a child innocent of his spiritual memories, “Mama” taught him of the sadness inherent in the human inclination to encourage life into the world… only to abandon it.

The lesson was one of many intended to help sculpt Tabris into a kind and gentle soul despite the cruelty of his captivation. While well-intended, it would eventually cut the boy deep in a way Mama surely could not have anticipated.

He wishes she were still here. But if she were… would she still love him? Or would the ego-transformation caused by his awakening memories have pushed her away? The former, surely. After all, she found it in her heart to love the abomination born from the union of Man and God, and continued to love him through changes far more radical than any that would come later. Truly, a soul worthy of elevation to Most Exalted Mother. Does her spirit still linger, he wonders, or has it already vanished?

Wistfully, he turns his eyes toward the blue vault once more, and his gaze seems to penetrate through the remaining layers of armored plating, seeing whatever lay beyond. 

“You won’t disappear,” he says. “I’ll come and get you. You’ll be safe again, inside me… back where you began.” Tabris smiles gently. “The start of a new journey is coming soon for all of us. Just a little longer, my sisters, my brothers… _my children_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The “ceiling” of the Geofront is not shown once in between Rei blowing up Tokyo-3 and the JSSDF destroying the “lid” altogether, so the stuff about there being any ceiling buildings left at all is pure whimsy. I’m not really committed to the idea that any are still hanging out the bottom, but by the time my brain decided to process continuity concerns, I had already done the writing, so… might as well leave it in for now.
> 
> Obviously I’m invoking “alien-speak” with Kaworu’s POV on purpose, as a nod to his rather ornate and opaque speech patterns, and the fact that… well, he *is* an alien. But I don’t want to overdo it to the point of parody, either. He’s supposed to be a *human* alien, after all. I’ll dial it back if need be.


	8. Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misato finds the resolve she needs to move forward. Kaworu confronts adversaries old and new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2020/9/25: Chapter updated with new material 2020/9/25 -- see end notes.

Misato waits on the subterranean bridge, arms draped over the railing, expression deeply contemplative.

“Half-brother…” she says out loud. It sounds so strange. If Akira Katsuragi is the father they share, would that make the mother… Adam? The specific phrase that Ritsuko used was _harachigai no otouto_ _—_ younger brother born of a different womb. Surely she didn’t mean it literally, though. “Adam” is the name of the Biblical first man, from whom the first woman, Eva, was made. In real life, too, the Evas are made from Adam. It’s all probably just symbolic. There’s no reason to think that any of them have a sex.

She wonders how Nagisa was actually “made”. As far as she could see, her father and Adam were barely touching, and he was covered neck to toe in that green body suit. His left arm was completely exposed, though, which had struck her as odd at the time. Most of the so-called “contact” seemed to be occurring through a massive, long, thin apparatus; they called it something starting with “A”. It seemed _maybe_ organic, but it was covered so completely in wiring, circuitry, and other crap that it was hard to tell. Father was linked to it through a series of red cables that attached to his suit, and the “A” thing was connected to Adam in turn by… she _thinks_ they stuck the tip of it right into Adam’s abdomen? It didn’t feel quite real; there was no blood, like it phased straight through the giant’s body.

Regardless of how many of her memories are real and how many are just fragments given flourish, the overall impression of what she saw will never leave her. This deep-seated feeling in the chest that natural law is being violated, and retribution will be coming soon. Even Misato, at her age, knew something obscene was taking place; the techno-chatter gave her uneasy flashbacks to sex ed class. And there was an element of the arcane to proceedings, too, like it was as much magical ritual as it was science.

Whatever the case, she’s pretty sure Nagisa’s “conception” happened right in front of her. And odds seem all too great that her brother, this son of Adam, isn’t merely an artificial being with a gift for piloting. In all likelihood, he’s the 17th Angel itself. If so, he will probably show his true intentions sooner or later. At which point, Nerv will be forced to kill him, and Misato won’t have to spare the dilemma imposed by their kinship another thought.

But she can’t afford to squander her chance at reciprocating contact. She just can’t. Too much is on the line here. This boy ties everything together. Her father, Adam and the Angels, Second Impact, parts of the conspiracy she can’t even imagine… Who knows what he might be able to tell her?

It would be so easy to mess up again. But given the stakes… things can’t really turn out any worse if she gets involved than if she remains _un_ involved, can they?

***

Before too long, Hyuga shows up, on foot and dressed in casuals. He unassumingly joins her at the railing, and together they spend a moment in silence, gazing out over the underground lake at the Nerv HQ pyramid. Eventually he screws the lid off his water bottle and helps himself to drink.

“How has your walk been?” Misato asks. “You’re going around the entire lake, right? Or do you want a lift after this?”

“Been maintaining a nice brisk pace,” he says. “Can really feel my head clearing out, you know? They’ve really been laying on the pressure lately, so it’s great to get away from all that for a little bit.” He smiles and throws a slight affection into his voice. “Your offer is tempting, Major Katsuragi, but personal discipline demands I finish this mission.”

Misato forces herself to chuckle, but it’s not terribly convincing.

Hyuga takes another swig of water and replaces the cap. “You look pretty rough around the edges, Major. What’s going on?”

She briefly contemplates how bluntly honest she should be. Part of her would just love to unload her psychological burden, even a little. But, no… She can’t use Hyuga for that. “Coffee and nightmares,” she says simply.

Hyuga looks slightly dubious, but he doesn’t press the matter. “So I heard you got through to Ritsuko-san. What happened? Did she know anything?”

“Ritsuko was…” Misato thinks. She can’t possibly tell Hyuga about what she just learned. Too much of her own past is knotted up in Nagisa to risk anything just yet. She feels foolish, but this _has_ to remain her secret for now. Sighing, she says, “I kind of regret going to see her at all. It hurts seeing her like that.”

“So she couldn’t tell you anything?”

“Not really. She’s too messed up to be any use to anyone.” She sighs again. “Maybe I am too. Putting up a front is one thing, but all of the weird things you see on this job eat away at you… you know?”

“Yeah, I can definitely relate to that, Major.”

“So how about you?” Misato asks. “Anything yet on the Fifth Children?” She straightens her back out and grips the railing. “I’m going to get serious about my own investigation today, but anything you have that could give me a jump start… Suspicious activity? Personal details? Anything?”

“Like all the pilots, he’s under constant surveillance,” Hyuga says. “I’ve double-checked the available intel with camera feeds. Not exhaustively of course, but just to feel things out, see if there are any major discrepancies… And honestly? There don’t seem to be.”

“What about his activities?”

“They’re, uh…” He scratches one of his temples. “Pretty unusual. Kind of fishy at first. Then once you get a better sense of what’s going on, it’s just…” He frowns, and starts fishing around in one of his pockets. “Well, best to see for yourself.”

Hyuga produces a mini-disc in a protective case and slips it to her. She pockets it discretely. “So what is it?” she asks.

“Just a compilation of the stuff that stood out the most. Take a look when you have the time. Tell me what you make of it.”

“Can’t even give me a hint right now?” Misato jibes. “Alright, I’ll swing by my office and check it out. So where are _you_ heading after this? Back to the command center?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Speaking of, missed you there this morning. Did you hear the news? Well, not ‘news’ exactly, but…”

Misato straightens up all the way. “Hmm? I’m not sure I did…”

“Intel Division 2 announced it officially. That they found the Second Children, I mean.” Hyuga adjusts his glasses. “She’s at the hospital if you want to see her.”

“I see…” With how messed up she is right now, does she really need Asuka making that worse? What a wretched thing to think, though. “I really ought to drop by.”

***

The tutoring is uneventful. The environment — a library for Nerv Headquarters’ Research and Development Department — is a stimulating one, and the seemingly endless rows of shelving packed with bound leaves of scholarly text and imagery effortlessly entice the mind with the Lilin wisdom that lay within. But the educational material intended for him and the other pilots is entirely mediocre. Tabris is not rude about his lack of interest, but there are so many things he doesn’t know about this world that it’s natural to wonder why they see fit to burden him with mostly redundant information. The interactions of his fellow pilots do not provide a distraction, either, as they seem to exist to one another as much as he exists to them — not at all.

The Third Children removes his person at earliest opportunity, as if he had been under tension and waiting to spring. No matter; Tabris can simply seek the Ikari boy out later. Eying the First with all suspicion that is due her, he gathers his belongings and heads into the stacks.

Presently, Ayanami also stands up to depart, but she goes in the wrong direction. Instead of simply leaving, she follows Tabris. Not closely, but she also makes no effort to disguise that it is him she seeks. Being trapped alone with her is not what he wanted.

He flees deeper into the library, hoping she will simply leave him to his own devices. The First remains at a distance, but she is still close enough that Tabris can feel her field clattering against his, trying to find a gap in his presence that she might slip her senses through. The aura is unmistakable — Ayanami’s soul radiates the stench of Lilith — but there is also something strange going on. She doesn’t feel entirely as she should. Something is missing. In place of that primordial sense of menace, there is a groping naivete. How curious.

Tabris attempts to focus on the procurement of knowledge for a time, browsing the shelves for whatever catches his eye. The First Children continues to simply observe him from a distance, and being watched inevitably grows tiresome. He came here with a specific objective — to seek out the work of one dear to him — but as long as _she_ is there, he cannot possibly give the task the focus it deserves. He sighs and carefully reshelves the symposium he was flipping through. There is no getting around it, it seems.

He looks behind him to the opposite end of this aisle, and sees Ayanami step into view. There she remains at the end of the row, blankly staring forward, her arms dangling feebly at her sides. If he didn’t know any better, he would call her behavior “timid”, though such a term is unbecoming of Lilith. This must be some form of ruse, but Tabris can scarcely guess what she hopes to accomplish here. _Force me to come to you this time?_ he thinks. _Well, perhaps that is only fair._

Pushing all his misgivings down as far as they will go, Tabris thrusts his hands into his pockets and creeps toward her. He forces himself to stare directly into her eyes the entire time, keeping his expression aloof, refusing to concede any weakness before her. Perhaps he was weaker, once, and such things are not so easily forgotten. But he will not let himself be defeated by her again.

Leaving a meter’s gap between them, and his voice constrained to a resolute whisper, at last he says, “You showed no interest when we were first introduced. Why do you insistently follow me now? At least commit to your own intrigue and allow yourself to speak.”

The First’s face betrays little of her thoughts, and her field is similarly inscrutable. How very Lilith-like, hiding her emotions inside herself; transparency never became her. With a flat, weak affectation, she says, “You look like me. Why?”

As before, they scarcely resemble one another. She has the soft, weak body of the Lilin female. The body Tabris inherited from his father is slightly more robust than Ayanami’s, but not appreciably; even before maturing fully, Adam’s mortal antecedent was surely stronger and hardier than any Lilin. Truthfully, this entire species is a mockery of the human form, and he can feel how greatly even a hybrid form like Tabris snuffs the light that lurks within it. When his sire’s soul spread into Adam, the joy that man felt upon experiencing the possibility of liberation from his cursed flesh is something that Tabris can still feel, and he doesn’t let himself forget it. Even Lilin hate being Lilin, and would rejoice in being freed, regardless of what they’ve fooled themselves into thinking so they can bear to live another day.

But perhaps he shouldn’t gloat too much internally. As much as he despises the First Children and all she represents, he also envies her. The contours of Tabris’s body more greatly match the body that his soul lost, but Lilith’s soul, unlike his own, was not severed from her original body’s generative aspects. A matter far too painful to risk dwelling upon further — not right now, when the Usurper stands before him, and he requires every gram of resolve he can muster.

‘Looks like her’. Of course he knows what she means. But the implication that the First does not know what their superficial resemblance means — that’s most peculiar. “You have no reason to ask me,” Tabris tells her. “You already know why.”

Her facial features finally stir, contorting mildly in confusion. There is a disconnect, it would seem, between his statements and whatever thoughts dwell within that blue-cloaked cranium of hers.

Tabris exhales sharply through his nose. He grows increasingly restless and uncomfortable, and his fingers seize the fabric lining his pockets. The uniform on the whole is stifling, but, oh, how he loves its bountiful pockets. When his hands are submerged within them, he feels a visceral sense of security. As little sense as it all makes, the pouches give him what he needs to steel his heart for the remainder of this encounter. “What do people call you?” he says.

More befuddlement. “Rei Ayanami.”

“And…?”

“The First Children.”

He gives her a mildly impatient look.

“There is nothing else.”

“You have no other names?” He tilts his head at her, smirking. “How peculiar.”

She glances away and her eyes stare into space, unfocused. “You know, don’t you? You know what lies beneath the shroud of darkness inside my heart.”

“What would make you say such a thing?” he says.

The First Children’s brilliantly blood-red eyes tentatively meet his own. “You’re afraid, too. Of what’s inside me. But unlike me, you know precisely what it is you fear.”

He says nothing.

“I want to know, too.”

“No,” Tabris says brusquely. “You don’t.”

She looks hurt.

“You say I’m afraid? I am.” Realizing his voice is getting a bit too loud, Tabris quickly self-corrects. “Your instincts are correct. There is something terrifying hidden inside you. And if you’ve forgotten whatever that is… if it has become so alien that it frightens you… then you’re better off. You don’t want to know _her_.”

Ayanami tries stepping toward him, but he reflexively maintains the gap. “I won’t have a choice, will I?” She weakly clutches the fabric that covers the seat of her soul. “In the end, the darkness will overtake me… I’ll vanish into it and disappear. I don’t wish for that. But I myself am empty, and there is nothing to save. I’m just a—”

“ _Enough._ ” A bead of sweat scurries down the side of Tabris’s face. “We mustn’t be saying such things here.”

Ayanami steps away timidly. “Please...” She grabs the side of her arm. “I don’t know why I was created. I don’t know why I still exist.”

So now Lilith wants to slither under his skin and provoke his sympathies? What a despicable creature. Even if she _has_ somehow failed to retrieve her memories, Tabris will never let his soul be weak before that monster again. He won’t let himself fall into her snare. It is time to end this. “There’s nothing I can do to help you.”

“I don’t believe that.”

A confluence of fear and rage threatens to escape his chest and burst explosively from his throat. He cannot let that happen. Losing control over himself is not an option. “Fine. Let me be more clear.” Tabris centers his mind with a couple of deep breaths, and he summons up all the cruelty he can muster. “ _I don’t want to be near you._ Your presence is nauseating. If you’re aware of how terrible you truly are, then you should rejoice in your suffering. But if you truly fear yourself so much, then I’m sure you already know what you should do.” His eyes narrow. “I would suggest acting on that feeling while you still can.”

Ayanami shows little outward response to his words. But he can sense that her heart is imploding in despair. If that husk of a human being remembered how to cry, surely she would.

A pity his soul would never let him become the same kind of monster as Lilith. Were it possible, he would leave nothing to chance, and destroy her violently right here and now.

But for now, this will have to do.

“Never speak to me again outside of our professional relationship,” he says. “I have nothing more to say to you.”

***

He leaves and, this time, Ayanami does not follow.

Tabris retreats to a place he knows will afford him a moment of privacy, a single-occupant restroom, and locks himself inside. There, the primordial fear can finally possess him completely, and his body is taken over by gruesome ancient memories. Hyperventilating, he hugs himself tightly, and he begins to relive that moment in acute detail.

She descends upon him from above, using the kinetic force of her weight to push him belly-down into the purification pool. His limbs quickly find the bottom, but as soon as he starts pushing his body up, he feels something long and sharp start to pierce his spine. His face is pressed harshly into the fine salt crystals forming the bowl-shaped lake bottom and, before he can brace himself again, his head is smashed against the crystal repeatedly. He tries to unfold his mental barrier for protection, but he can’t. He tries to regenerate the damage she’s causing, again in vain. Right now, he can’t do anything except writhe and flail in animal terror, helpless against what is happening and what is yet to come.

Adam feels like she’s drowning. She can’t drown, it’s impossible, and yet her vitality is quickly dissipating into the pool, dispersing like so many air bubbles. As Lilith forcibly holds her beneath the water and buries the tines of Longinus deeper into her body — breaking through her sternum, pushing her vertebrae further apart, pinching her core ever more tightly — she lashes and spasms with no real sense of motor control. The pain is excruciating. She can feel the doorway to the Infinite, deep within her breast, coiling shut. She fights it, tries to free herself… slices her palms open trying to push the spear back out the way it came. It’s no use; Lilith pushes back even harder, so hard the tines are driven tens of meters down past the bottom of the lake bed. The smothering, pinching sensation spreads out into an all-encompassing series of violent convulsions. The spear glows like heated metal, but Adam’s own light is dying fast.

When all is done, Adam’s eyes turn deathly still and her core goes dark and silent. Her limp body sways gently in the pool of salt water intermingling with freshly-spilled blood. The spear remains glowing for a while longer, and then it, too, goes mostly quiet. And then, eventually, Adam’s nearly lifeless body ejects whatever’s left in it, in the manner of a corpse. A mass of coagulated blood from the mouth. An aborted egg from the nethers.

Tears in the corners of Tabris’s eyes, he fiercely seizes the pit of his stomach and vomits into the toilet bowl again. This time, it’s bloody bile. He curses these infernal memories. It’s too soon to let his destrudo possess him like this; he knows he still has the power to control it. As soon as this round of retching stops, he flushes and daintily dabs at the blood-stained spittle running down his chin with a piece of toilet tissue.

He hoists himself up, one arm on the wall and holding him steady over the toilet bowl. As he waits for his nausea to settle completely, the hand that grips his chest begins to move sensually down the front of his body with uncertain purpose. His fingers slide past the waistband of his pants, and they simply remain there, pressed against his lower abdomen. The sensation of fullness that should be there beneath his fingertips, that he can still remember so vividly, is nothing more than empty void. This body can give rise to nothing, and soon, very soon, it will return his soul to nothing.

Tabris gasps, and he lets Adam’s sorrow drain out of him as quietly as possible.

***

Tabris wanders into Eva-01’s cage, open right now for observation and low-security maintenance. He gazes deep into one of the ocular apertures of the helmet, and sees eyelids shuttered in repose. Every other part of her body is covered, as if the Lilin find it distasteful to look upon.

He chortles. Of course they do. His early childhood made that quite clear. Back when Tabris did not look like them. Not nearly enough.

The “Evangelion Unit-01 Test Type”, the Lilin call her. A designation intended to greatly distance the creators from their creation — and the creation from her true nature. Gazing upon Eva-01, he is starkly reminded that he, too, would be similarly mutilated and chained if only the Lilin had been able. But as Father’s decrepit state shows all too well, robotics to this day miniaturize crudely. And back when Tabris’s psychokinetic abilities had yet to meaningfully manifest, and it was still possible for the researchers to forcefully subject him to the cruelest of their whimsies, the technology was far worse than that. Small blessings.

Even in a state of bondage, the Eva is beautiful. Mighty to behold. Truly, a cruel angel of the battlefield. Tabris has heard much about her, and he knows many of his siblings have died bloody and painful deaths at her hands. Lilith’s monstrous nature lurks within. Were her chains lifted, would Eva-01 too shed her humanity and become something else? He wouldn’t doubt it. And like Lilith, it wouldn’t be out of some unconscious drive to push the limits of human imagination and consciousness. It would simply be her body synchronizing with the darkness inside her heart.

“ _You_ are my true nemesis now,” he says, “aren’t you… Dr. Yui Ikari?”

When he looks again, the eye is open ever so slightly, the pupil rather indiscreetly pointing in his direction. Amusing. Flattering, even. But he knows she won’t risk anything right now that can’t just be dismissed as quirks of autonomic neural firing. Tabris walks away without consequence.

***

The Second Children lays supine on her hospital bed, eyes wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling. It’s not immediately apparent if she’s conscious or not. Misato gets her answer quickly when the attending nurse mutters to herself and goes up to Asuka to manually shut her eyes.

The whole thing gives Misato a deeply uncomfortable feeling, and she crosses her arms over her chest tightly. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s under sedation,” Dr. Uzuki says, a bit too casually.

Misato knits her brows. “May I ask why?”

“Nurse Yamada,” he says. “Could you show her?”

Yamada pulls the top sheet away. Misato can’t help but gasp. Both of Asuka’s lower arms are completely wrapped in bandages.

She suddenly feels herself sinking… _sinking_ …… all the way down to that moment of absolute despair, when she got home on the late side one weekday, and her aunt’s car and the Yakumos’ car and the police and an emergency vehicle were all out there, and the lights flashed in her eyes and made them water… She rushed inside, and adults were packed inside the bathroom, flooding outside the bathroom, and she tried to squeeze through, screaming for Mom. They tried to hold her back, tried to keep her from seeing, but……

No! She _won_ _’t_ go back there. She _refuses._ She _has_ to pull herself out.

Misato turns away from the others and slaps herself across the face, just hard enough to make her feel something.

 _I_ _’m not going to cry… I’ve already been crying too much… I’m not going to turn into Mom and cry about everything and then just give up. I won’t. I never will._

“Major Katsuragi, are you feeling all right?”

 _Asuka_ _…… Asuka, I’m so sorry…_

“Major?”

She quickly composes herself, putting on her best steel-eyed expression. “I’m fine.” She looks back toward Asuka as the nurse replaces the cover, and she scowls. “How will sedating her help? She’s not going to get better that way!”

“Her wounds are still closing, Major,” Uzuki says. “We can’t risk—”

“And what are you going to do with her once they have?” Misato says. “Do you have a plan at all??”

Uzuki takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry that this happened to your ward, but… With all due respect, Major Katsuragi… Soryu was in your custody. You had plenty of opportunity to influence her trajectory and prevent this outcome.”

Misato’s blood immediately comes to a boil. “Are you blaming _me_ for this?!”

“Blame is completely beside the point,” he says. “It’s here; it happened. Now she’s in _our_ hands. We’ll handle her case as best we can.”

“This is bullshit,” Misato growls, heading for the door. She keeps the best part to herself: _You_ _’re only doing this to keep her away from Eva-02. I couldn’t help her, but none of you self-righteous assholes helped her back_ then _either._

This was all on purpose. Letting Asuka get “lost” until her own behavior forced them to suddenly “find” her… And now this. The powers that be wanted her out of the picture, and taking advantage of the 15th Angel’s fallout to do it surreptitiously is just like them. But why? Just to have an excuse to send the Fifth as her replacement? Is it something about Eva-02 specifically…?

Her stomach turns. Near Third Impact. An Angel using the Evas to make it happen, foiled only by Rei Ayanami’s self-sacrifice. Kaworu Nagisa, possessing half of Adam’s genes and almost certainly the Final Angel, assigned to Evangelion Unit-02 as the Fifth Children.

She can’t put this off another minute. She needs to establish a dialogue with her brother, _NOW_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea that Asuka actually tried to commit suicide is not really supported by the original work — unless I’m terribly mistaken, the bandaging you would expect from an attempt just isn’t there — but since this is an “alternative outcome” anyway, I figured I might as well use it.
> 
> As of 2020/9/25, the original, rather anemic segment where Kaworu encounters Rei has been completely reworked and replaced, and now comes with an additional flashback segment. Hopefully this will alleviate some of this chapter’s long-standing issues. The original segue into the Eva-01 scene was lost, however, and not properly replaced; but at some point I intend to revisit the Eva-01 and hospital scenes and beef them up, which should fix any problems that exist currently. 
> 
> (Hopefully I’ll fix this pitiful commentary at a later point, too…)


	9. Primary Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misato lets go of her fear and approaches her brother’s smile.

Misato makes a quick stop at the HQ building. If the disc Hyuga gave her contains any important insights, the few minutes that get diverted here will be worth it. A quick dash down some corridors and she’s back at her office. She locates her assigned laptop and confirms it has at least 50% charge, more than enough. She unlocks her secure line and calls up Intelligence.

“Current location of the Fifth Children?” she asks.

“One moment, Major Katsuragi.” About a minute later, the voice returns. “He’s taking Rail No.3 to the surface. Do you have any instructions for us?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll rendezvous with him.” Intel’s extra sets of eyes will come in handy now, but she doesn’t want their agents getting involved beyond that. This is between her and Nagisa. “Just keep me posted on his heading once he’s up there. Send it to my car’s map terminal.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

What a relief. That agent was more polite than the usual. Must be one of the younger guys they haven’t broken in yet. Having that much go smoothly for her puts a little extra pep in her step.

Normal railway would be faster, but she needs the mobility her car affords. She can’t just leave the thing down here anyway, even _if_ Hyuga would be all too willing to bring it back to the apartment for her, no questions asked. She heads for the car train.

En route, Misato boots up the laptop and sticks in the disc. There’s nothing on it but a bunch of video files. She cues them up and lets them play.

“Unusual with a side of suspicious” is right. Nagisa seems to move around very slowly, very methodically, like he’s carefully looking for something. Oddly, he doesn’t have the wherewithal to so much as pretend he’s minding his own business when his path intersects with someone else’s. The boy is very clearly in his own little world. …Or _is_ he? Some of the clips show him stopping and staring when he comes across an aggregation of personnel; body language suggests casual conversation rather than work-related. Similar to when Nagisa spoke to her, he simply stands there with hands in pockets, perfectly still, and watches. At least until the people get creeped out and go somewhere else.

When Misato gets to the last several clips, where Nagisa is moving around the Geofront outside headquarters, she thinks she finally gets it. Any of the natural, or semi-natural as the case may be, features within the Geofront’s landscapes seem to utterly fascinate him. His hands actually come out of his pockets so he can touch things. Really mundane things, too. Dirt. Grass. Fallen leaves. He picks up a piece of trash, too — a glass bottle with an interesting shape and color. When he’s done with it, he places it into a receptacle. The thing is so full that a couple of cans fall right out, so what does he do? He delicately places them back in. Weirdly adorable.

She closes the laptop and opens a coffee to get her brain working. What did Hyuga want her to see here that he found too difficult to simply say? Nagisa’s bizarre mannerisms remind her more and more of Father all the time. Father didn’t quite reach some of Nagisa’s extremes — he was many things, but “creepy” wasn’t one of them — but the likeness is there and, as always, uncanny. The fascination in tiny things that most would take for granted and overlook. The barely restrained child-like whimsy. The inwardly focused disregard for what anyone else might think.

But, no… There’s something else going on, too. The way he seems to savor gradual exploration of the Nerv facilities… Being intrigued by complete strangers enjoying each other’s company… Fascination with the natural world and how humanity intersects with it… The answer is damned pretty obvious, isn’t it? Nagisa being what he is, and kept a secret most of his life… There’s no way they _didn_ _’t_ keep him locked away in some science dungeon. Kind of like how Rei started, spending her first years in that dingy laboratory, deep underground. Except Nagisa wasn’t allowed out of his cage until mere days ago.

If that’s true, it’s honestly amazing he can function in any kind of social setting at all. That he was able to approach her and talk to her is kind of a miracle, isn’t it? The human spirit isn’t made for a cage. Clearly, Nagisa is trying to persevere in spite of everything. He hasn’t let his circumstances break him. He knows what he wants, and he’s been going after those things without any want of approval.

Misato’s fear is already starting to transform into something else. Admiration, maybe? But commiseration too. All of this brings back some of the worst memories of all.

  
“ _Are we certain she was present at ground zero? The structural analysis of the life-pod shows that it should have been vaporized several times over by A1’s detonation.”_

“ _Still fretting over that? The solution to this problem is a pretty obvious one.”_

“ _Completely ridiculous. We ran several scans already. There are no signs of physical or mental contamination. She’s completely human.”_

“ _There’s clearly something you’re overlooking, then. Sweep the pod again for any trace of psychic residue. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”_

“ _And there are still some tests we haven’t done on the girl. We can’t completely rule out—”_

“ _I wouldn’t press my luck with that. Dr. Katsuragi’s been outlived by some pretty frightening allies. You bet your ass they’re watching everything we do.”_

“ _Poor kid. Should never have been down there. Makes you wonder what the hell is wrong with people.”_

  
What she calls her “lost years”. That time when _she_ was just some freak they kept locked up and under study. They talked about her like she wasn’t there… but she didn’t say a single word to anyone anyway. She didn’t look at anyone, either. The world was just something that happened around her. She didn’t progress at all until someone who truly cared came along and, with a lot of hard work and dedication, helped her out of that quagmire. She feels bad that she hasn’t written Dr. Traudl in so long, but, as absolutely wonderful and life-changing as that woman was, thinking about her also means thinking about a time that Misato wants to leave solidly in the past.

If she and Nagisa really do have more in common than just a father, then maybe there’s reason to be actually hopeful about this.

***

Misato hunts down the red dot on her map screen as it sporadically nudges about in response to the agents’ updates. According to Intelligence, Nagisa’s in the north-east ruins, lakeside. The rubble and toppled telegraph poles and wiring make it a little difficult, if not outright dangerous, to get around. Misato is begging for a flat tire, at the very least. But right now? She doesn’t care. Her sights are set on that boy and nothing is going to stand in her way.

The dot holds still long enough for her to finally catch up. She parks, gets out, looks around. There’s no sign of him. The blown-out buildings provide plenty of hiding places, to be sure, but… She heads back to her car and gets on their case. “Shouldn’t this be it?” she says. “Where is he?”

“We lost him a few minutes ago. Our apologies, Major Katsuragi.”

Are they seriously going to pull this shit again? “What do you mean, _lost_ him? He didn’t just disappear!”

“We’ll keep you posted, Major.”

She slams the phone down. Worthless. They’re probably all laughing their asses off right now. Even if she _had_ asked them to bring Nagisa to her, they would have lost him anyway. She _would_ ask herself why her two superiors haven ’t done anything to bring Intelligence in line, _if_ the answer weren’t obviously “because it’s really there to keep _them_ in line”. It pisses her off to no end, all of it.

Misato angrily retrieves her binoculars from the driver seat’s back pocket and stomps toward a nearby multistory building. Shattered windows, but no other visible damage. Looks like it should hold up okay. On the way in she takes out her anger on a supporting wall — good test for basic structural integrity. Nothing happens, so she’s probably in the clear, and, if not… oh well.

She takes the stairs to the top floor and is able to get the roof access open without too much trouble. Up on top, she deploys her binoculars and begins to methodically scan her periphery. But there’s nothing around here but the depressing reminders of what had once been. A city full of people, brought together in the defense of humanity against a terrifying and unknown enemy. A team of three towering humanoid fighting machines, the absolute pinnacle of technology… glimmering beacons of hope. The three troubled but hard-working young people who went out there and suffered on the front lines to give everyone else a chance. The support team who—

…who failed everyone.

After a few minutes, she wonders who she’s even kidding. The whole area is a complete disaster. Nagisa’s uniform ought to make him stand out, but there’s no guarantee he’s still wearing it. If he didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t have any trouble at all. It’s just _like_ an Angel, isn’t it? Vanishing off the sensors at the least convenient times…

_Just like an_ _—_

With a brisk and decisive motion she turns her lenses toward the barrier around the lake. “ _Please please please_ …” she whispers, methodically scanning the shoreline along the entire length visible to her from here. Is he really nowhere to be found? Did she come all the way out here for nothing? Will she lose her nerve, and then the worst will happen after all? One minute becomes two, two becomes three, and her spirits dwindle back down to almost nothing.

She is nearly about to give up when something registers, only barely conscious. Misato scans back the way she came, slowing to a crawl and boosting her magnification.

Her heart dances with excitement. _A-ha! Yes! There he is!_ Strolling along just outside the barrier, looking toward the southwest. Hands are shoved into pockets, as always. She takes stock of the landmarks he’s approaching, and is on the brink of lowering her binoculars when it happens again. 

He suddenly looks over his shoulder, in exactly her direction, and pointedly holds his stare.

Misato’s hand starts to tremor. She doesn’t drop anything, but she can’t stop herself from shaking — not right away. There’s something about this vantage point. Something about it that forces her to remember.

_She pressed her whole body against the forward glass of the observation room, staring anxiously at the main platform down below. Tsubaki was right next to her, trying to lighten the atmosphere with playful banter. Through the pane, she could see Father in his metallic-green suit, undergoing final preparations for_ _“contact”. Misato tried to act like she wasn’t worried,_ _like she didn_ _’t care, but Tsubaki told her that it was okay if she did. She could be angry at Father and still care deeply; as Father’s friend, he felt the same way._

 _It was hard, but she admitted that, despite what she might have said in anger, on many occasions, she didn_ _’t_ actually _want him to drop dead._

 _Just then, Father looked over his shoulder, in the direction of the observation room. Misato was sure he was looking straight at her. But she couldn_ _’t make out the expression on his face_ _— he was too far —_ _and it bothered her. She let her eyes break away so she could seek out a closer view of him on the wall of monitors, but by the time she found one, he had already turned back around._

He didn’t look her way again, and the experiment started soon after that. Not knowing what he had tried to share with her, through his expression, in the moments before he irreversibly committed himself to the role of “donor”, would always bother her.

This time, she won’t let her father’s face get away from her.

Misato increases the magnification quickly, carefully recentering her view as she does. For a fraction of a second, she thinks she’s lost him, but then a tell-tale piece of rubble directs her to move 4 o’clock, and there he is. Still gazing at her.

Nagisa almost looks… mournful? No, that’s exactly it. Those eyes, they’re full of sadness. He’s not hiding behind anything right now. He’s _revealing_ himself to her.

Right before he turns from her, he smiles. It’s just like the last smile Father gave her.

The boy casually begins to walk away from the barrier, heading in the direction of the northeast ruins. She has no idea what he might want to do there, but she doesn’t like the feeling it gives her. Misato burns his trajectory into her mind, and she starts to scramble toward her car.

***

She catches up with him inside a dilapidated residential block. Not a fun place to be. She makes sure she has her piece on her before she leaves her vehicle. It’s doubtful that Nagisa will try anything, but there’s no telling who else might be sniffing around. Can never be too careful.

Nagisa is sitting next to a stray cat on a disheveled bench, delicately stroking its head. Misato lets herself observe from a comfortable distance. The boy is weird, no doubt, but he seems very gentle and sweet. Alarmingly nonchalant about the possibility of disease, but sweet. Idly she wonders how he would get along with Pen Pen. She hopes that goofy bird is acclimating well…

Eventually the cat scurries off, and the Fifth looks her way with a tender, tranquil expression.

At first, Misato can’t think of anything to say. Nothing that doesn’t sound stupid. Those eyes are holding her mind and memories captive, and she can’t help but approach. She feels like she’s… _home_ , in a way. Up this close to him, with the sun shining down on them both, and any remaining fear draining rapidly from her heart… the words just come tumbling out.

“You really do look just like him.”

Nagisa smiles now. That only makes everything worse. He is devastatingly beautiful and his smile only accentuates that. Misato really doesn’t need to be reminded of what a “catch” her father was.

“I’m glad you came,” he says. “So your memories are returning?”

She didn’t notice it before, when she was busy being freaked out by him, but he sounds unnervingly similar to Father, too. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

“I never truly forgot,” Misato says. “I only _wish_ I did.”

He tilts his head slightly. “Why? Memories can scar, yes, but those scars make us who we are. Beautiful etchings upon the soul… proof that we _lived_.”

His radiant eyes drop down for a moment pointedly. Misato’s first instinct is that he’s being lewd, only to realize — no, he’s looking exactly where her scar is. But how could he possibly know about that?

Nagisa’s gaze returns to her. “And, for now, that’s the only place he can live. In our memories.”

Misato frowns, feeling abruptly pulled back to those first weird statements that Nagisa made to her. “You act like you know my— _our_ father…” Saying it out loud feels so surreal. Honestly, this whole encounter feels like a dream. She pauses just long enough to gauge his reaction. His demeanor doesn’t change in any way; this information can’t be anything new to him. “…but you were conceived on the day he died.”

Nagisa interlaces his fingers, and his smile broadens, like he’s trying to hide something. Just like Father. “Paradox is one of the defining features of my existence.”

Evasion through overintellectualizing. She has no more patience for it now than she did back then. “How long have you known that I’m your sister?”

His gaze becomes distant and wistful for a moment, but then he turns back to her. “I’ve known of our connection, Major Katsuragi, from the time I was the ‘me’ before me, and the life that would become mine sparked within me.” Rising to his feet, he says, “Which is to say, I’ve _always_ known.”

There’s an intensity in his eyes that makes her uneasy. She reflexively takes a step back, and her fingers signal that they’re ready to arm her at a moment’s notice. “I don’t want your riddles, Nagisa-kun,” she says, perhaps more harshly than intended. “I’ve had enough riddles to last me the rest of my life. I just want the truth. Plain and straight.”

“The truth...” he repeats, letting his eyes linger upon the white cross. “You seek the truth inside yourself. About who you are. Why you’re here upon this world.”

Misato remains stern. “I want to trust you. But I don’t know if I can.”

“I long for that trust also.” Naked words, spoken without a hint of pretense. Then, with a more earnest tone, “But of course, both sides must earn it from one another.”

There are deeply uncomfortable thoughts lingering in the air all around them, hanging oppressively over what should be a sublime moment. She can’t ignore them another second. “You’re something I’ve vowed to destroy.” Shaking her head, and voice briefly wavering, she continues, “It doesn’t matter if you’re my long-lost brother. Not at all. When you reveal yourself, I’ll have a duty to perform. Can I rightfully refuse it?”

Nagisa simply listens, cupping his chin thoughtfully. “…I see.” He pockets his hands and shifts his gaze toward her (supposedly) concealed weapon. “You wish to avoid this eventual conflict of interests.”

Misato won’t admit it. Not here. “I need you to come with me, Nagisa-kun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Primary contact” is a term that Kaworu uses in episode #24’s infamous bath scene. You’ll see it translated as “first contact” a lot, but I double-checked. “Primary contact” ended up having a sociological meaning, too. Neat.
> 
> Not sure if the flashback format works. Probably doesn’t. Felt worthy of experimentation regardless.
> 
> I have no idea how the lift system between Geofront and the surface works, and “No.3” is just something I pulled out of my ass. I also attempted to make some sense of the Tokyo-3 geography post-craterization, and… yeah, I’m not going to worry about that… I don’t hate myself *that* much. 
> 
> Kaworu’s identification with cats is an ancient meme that originates from the NGE Proposal (an early concept for the show), and was made infamous by Sadamoto’s manga.


	10. Thanatos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaworu lays his heart bare, but Misato struggles to accept the truth he offers.

They drive in silence to the Rt. 736 overlook.

With Misato’s blessings, Nagisa tossed his uniform jacket in the back, revealing an orange undershirt, and giving a clearer look at the current state of his physique. A gangling kid whose frame is racing toward adult proportions faster than the rest can keep up, and clearly further along than Shinji — as if his already-deepened voice hadn’t given that away. If his parents are any indication, Nagisa will never be terribly substantial, but he’s so gorgeous that it hardly matters.

The boy looks outside the window the whole time, completely engaged with the scenery whooshing by, just like a little kid. She doesn’t bother him, even if the silence is uncomfortable for her. The whole time she’s wondering what he’s thinking… If he’s planning anything… If something might have happened up there by the lake if she hadn’t shown up… If something _still_ might happen…

She has an Angel in her car. An Angel that is also her brother. And looks like her father. And who also hasn’t tried to harm her in any way despite ample opportunity. What if this is all a ruse…? But what _would_ an Angel need to trick her for, anyway? He already has access to the Nerv facilities. If he had wanted to, he could have breached Terminal Dogma several times over. Why hasn’t he? Just because they share a father? Why would an Angel care about that? But why would an Angel be visibly affected by social isolation, either?

Right… She keeps on forgetting, though it _should_ be impossible to. He’s only _half_ Angel. Which means he’s half human. A paradox, he said. A combination of two beings that normally just try to kill one another. That half… the half that’s bound to her father, her, the entire human race… that’s why she can trust him. That’s why he’s not engaging in wanton destruction. That’s why, instead, he’s _exploring_ the world that was denied to him for so long.

But him being there at the lake, looking toward the psycho-hazard area… He’s drawn to the Angels, too, isn’t he? Of course he is. He _must_ be curious, how could he not be? And what about the First Angel, down in Terminal Dogma? He must have an overwhelming curiosity about that, too. The amount of self control that the boy exhibits is incredible.

Misato pulls into a parking spot at the overlook. Nagisa immediately looks forward, through the front window, where a panorama of the crater lake sprawls before them. He immediately gets agitated, or excited maybe… like he wants to leave the car, but is used to being told when he’s allowed to do something. He tries to hide his reaction, but he doesn’t hide it very well.

She breaks the silence. “I’m sorry for dragging you around town like this.” He immediately turns to her. “It’s just that… There are fewer prying ears this way.”

A quiet, good-hearted chuckle. “You could simply ask me, you know.”

Puzzling. “What does that mean?”

“You desire privacy, yes? For things to be kept between the two of us. I understand all too well.” He glances off for a second, considering his words. “I have… ways… of securing a moment that is truly alone.”

It takes Misato a moment, but quickly she follows his meaning. “You mean an—?” She stifles herself. “There are sensors everywhere, Nagisa-kun. It’s not worth the risk.” This boy can generate an A.T. Field? She shouldn’t be surprised, but…

“They only detect above a specific energy wavelength,” Nagisa says. “There are too many false positives otherwise. I simply have to keep my activities below that threshold, and I won’t be detected.”

Is that how some Angels have managed to sneak up on Tokyo-3? But what does he mean about “false positives”…? This conversation is already getting weird enough to make her antsy. “If you know what you’re doing, Nagisa-kun… then go ahead with whatever it is.”

He grins. “Already in effect.”

Misato bumps her head against the ceiling of the car. “Wait. So what did you actually do??”

“I’m producing a low-level ambient field around your vehicle. Sound waves cannot escape. Not in a form capable of being eavesdropped upon.”

“So, ‘low-level’… Could I open the door and step out without anything bad happening?”

“Of course.”

Misato slumps back in her chair, sighing deeply. What is she doing? What in the _hell_ is she doing? What on earth was that conversation just now? How did something so surreal manage to happen so… casually?

It’s like she feels comfortable around this kid for completely unearned reasons, and she wants to resist it. There’s no reason she should feel _this_ comfortable around him. But what does she lose if she _does_ let herself feel at ease? _He_ _’s your brother, you nitwit!_

“How are you so comfortable with all this?” she makes herself ask. “Aren’t you scared?”

“ _You_ let go of your fear. What right would I have to hold onto mine?”

Misato doesn’t have a good response for that.

“You wanted to talk to me, right?” Nagisa says, his voice so tender and soft it’s excruciating. His arms are crossed over his lap, and his eyes look toward her, gleaming and alive, deep reservoirs of memory and feeling. She finds herself staring at his hand, feeling the completely illogical desire for physical contact. As if maybe that would make this more real. But she immediately flashes back to that moment in Shinji’s room, and… She crosses her arms tightly, hiding her hands, and tries to move on from the thought.

“So… what should I call you? ‘Nagisa’ was just something they made up to hide your origins. You _should_ be Kaworu Katsuragi.”

“Perhaps so,” he says, playfully elusive.

“Should I call you ‘brother’?” Misato asks. “No… I shouldn’t get into the habit of calling you something that others shouldn’t hear…”

“I have no real preference. Whatever makes you feel most comfortable, that’s what you should use.”

“I guess I’ll stick to Nagisa-kun, then… Or I guess I could call you ‘Kaworu-kun’? Now that we’re speaking and all…”

“‘Kaworu’ is fine,” he says. “And you? Have you a preference?”

“‘Misato’ is fine, but, honestly… I don’t care, either. I’m just glad this is happening.” She side-eyes him nervously, thinking back to some of the strange and completely unexplained things he’s said. “So… what do you know about me, exactly?”

“Is that _really_ so interesting?” Kaworu parries. “You’re curious about me, aren’t you?”

“I guess that’s true…” she relents. “You must not get many chances to talk about yourself, huh?” So, what should she ask first? So many questions, and this boy seems to know an awful lot… But, hmm… There’s a pretty big elephant in the room, isn’t there? She really doesn’t want to go there, she doesn’t want to ruin this cute little thing they have going here… but a feeling of superficial ease is not the same as genuine trust. As Kaworu himself said, that must be earned. “Well, I guess there’s one thing I want to get out of the way first.”

His angelic face looks at her, waiting patiently.

“I know you’re my half-brother… but you’re also half Adam,” Misato begins. “You’re the child of Akira Katsuragi _and_ the First Angel. The other Angels are _all_ connected to Adam somehow… They came here seeking to make contact with it.” She pauses for effect. “And you appeared here, right after the 16th Angel’s destruction.”

Right as she speaks of the 16th, his expression becomes melancholy, for just a moment.

“So…” Misato says, “you’re the 17th, aren’t you? You’re the Final Angel that we’ve been waiting for. After your defeat, it’s officially over. Am I wrong?”

“‘Final Angel’…” he repeats, chuckling under his breath, as if he finds it sordidly amusing. “Well, I _am_ the last of Adam’s children, this much is true. Some might call me the ‘17th’. A meaningless ordinal in what amounts to little more than a checklist written in blood.”

His bitterness is obvious, but he doesn ’t seem to be targeting it at her specifically, at least. “‘Adam’s children’…?” Misato says. “That’s what the other Angels were? Not including the first one, of course…”

“First _two_ ,” Kaworu corrects, “but yes.”

“But…” Misato rubs her chin. “The Evas were made from Adam. Couldn’t you also call _them_ Adam’s children, in a sense?”

“Yes, but…” Her brother considers this for a moment. “Oh. You were never told, were you?”

She frowns. “There’s a lot they never told me.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Kaworu says. “There are _so_ many things I wish to talk about, but… I can’t ignore your need for this knowledge, either.” He sighs. “I wish there was more time.”

“Why? Is there a time limit or something?” Her brows furrow. “You’re the last one, aren’t you? So… if an attack happens, it’s because you made it happen, right? It’s not inevitable.”

Kaworu has a plaintive expression on his face. He looks, for a moment, like he’s carefully collecting the words he wants to say.

Then he says, “There’s not much time, Sister, because ‘the Angels’, as you say, are not the only ones who wish to trigger an Impact. In fact, these others who desire it _specifically_ want the Angels out of the way first.”

Misato’s expression turns blank.

“You already know, don’t you?” he says. “About what happens after your organization erases me?”

Misato bites her lip. “They… call it the Human Instrumentality Project.”

“Do you know what that is, Sister?” In a tone that is penetrating, yet not _quite_ sharp, he asks, “Do you know _anything_ about the objective that Nerv has had you working toward this whole time?”

It’s painful and humiliating to admit to herself that she’s been so fixated upon her vendetta and her own personal misery that she hasn’t given it anywhere near the amount of thought that she should have. “We haven’t been told what it is. It’s… classified.” She frowns deeply.

“I’ll tell you, then,” Kaworu says. “As much as I know.”

***

The Human Instrumentality Project… Its committeemen are actually five members of a multinational pseudo-religious cabal called Seele. They created Nerv to build the Evangelions and wipe out Adam’s children. With the death of Kaworu Nagisa, the 17th Angel, the true purpose of Nerv and the Evas would be revealed: the artificial evolution of humanity into a single unified being. All humans would be forced out of their bodies, and their souls collected within an Evangelion, where they would be merged into a singular consciousness.

Humanity on Earth would be rendered extinct in order to usher a new god into the universe. All other life on Earth would be a casualty of its birth — reduced to nothing more than a blood sacrifice.

“That is… pretty wild,” Misato admits, kneading her brow. “I’m not sure I completely understand it, but I can see why we wouldn’t want it. Who wants to be annihilated against their own will to provide the raw materials for somebody else’s idea of progress? Fuck that.”

Kaworu laughs. “It seems you understand it well enough, Sister.”

“But what I _don_ _’t_ understand is… Isn’t there a way to stop them? Seriously. There has to be _some_ way.”

“That’s why I wish to advocate for my own life to you,” he says. “Because I have both the power _and_ the desire to stop them.”

Misato talks past him. “…And what _if_ you die? Why can’t we fight Seele on our own?”

Kaworu frowns. “Because, Sister… there is no way to truly win against them.”

Misato scoffs. “Bullshit.”

Her brother continues, undeterred. “They represent a rot that exists deep within the core of the Lilin… within your race. There is no way to truly remove it if you remain as you are. If you try, it will simply grow back, again and again, until it finally gets what it wants. That is the power of Thanatos.”

“How can you say that?” Misato cries, hands on thighs and thrusting her face into his side of the vehicle. “You can’t possibly know that!”

Kaworu eyes her warily, but he remains resolute. “It’s difficult to hear, Sister, I know. But I have the dubious distinction of being…” He looks at his left hand oddly, palm open to him, and clenches the fingers together. “…an outsider with, as you might say, one foot in the door. I have a nature like yours, like Father’s, like the Patriarchs’… _and_ I have another.” He gazes upon both his hands now, held loosely open upon his lap. “The pull toward death and total annihilation… I know its source, all too well. It comes from the side of me that lives in the shadow of its own mortality. In constant, anxious terror of the abyss, it hopes to conquer that fear forever by casting itself willingly into the darkness…” He looks toward Misato, his face brutally somber. “You have surely felt it yourself, Sister.”

Her face twists, approaching the absolute borderline of indignant rage. “It’s a thought crime to have a bad day? Is that what you’re telling me? _Everyone_ _’s_ afraid! Everyone struggles! We keep moving forward and doing the best we can anyway. Saying, ‘Oh, _well_ , it’s inevitable that we’re going to do such-and-such, so we might as well blow it all up’, just because we’re not perfect? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Kaworu turns away before she’s even finished talking, seizing his brow and releasing a subdued gasp of exasperation.

“I know you’ve had a shitty life, okay? That doesn’t give you permission to impose on everyone else, to… like… ‘save’ them from what you went through. You want control over your past, this isn’t how you get it! You don’t force people to do things your way with an Impact, like Seele would. You fight your _own_ god damned fight.”

He covers his face more guardedly, but his mouth is visible, contorting with emotional pain. Though his voice wavering, he forces himself to keep talking. “I’m trying to enable your understanding, Sister… I want _nothing_ more right now than to give you the truth you so greatly desire, but…” He takes some slow breaths, rubs his eyes, and looks again to her. “What do you suggest I do if the truth is something you don’t want to hear? What then, Sister? Is there nothing left for us to say?”

Misato crosses her arms, fixing her stubbornness within her body language as a ward against her brother’s sweet, deeply pained voice. She wants to say something to make him hurt, to push him all the way over into despair. She wants to see the pain on his face. She wants to feel that power over him. So badly. Just like when Father was struggling to process the emotional pain of Mom demanding he stamp the divorce papers right there and then, and Misato gleefully grabbed the knife that Mom had already stuck in him, and she twisted it until he looked like he was on the brink of total collapse and Mom had to force her to leave. Surely he cried once Misato was gone. She gloated about it to her friends. She’d always felt so helpless with him; the stupid asshole always did what he wanted, he couldn’t take commitments seriously, he couldn’t so much as listen to her or Mom talk about their day without taking first opportunity to make it about himself. Piece of shit deserved to suffer for reducing Mom to a whimpering mess of a human being. She hated him. She wanted him to drop dead so she could go to his funeral and throw the biggest party of her life.

Aren’t you glad, Mom? Aren’t you glad he’s gone?? Just think of all the things we can do without him around! Look at how free you are! You don’t need him! Neither of us need him! Fuck that guy and his stupid pretty face! Just stab that razor blade into his face and keep cutting and cutting and cutting until there’s nothing left, because I hate him, I want him to die, this is his fault, _everything’s his fault!!_

Her mind flashes to all the blood she saw in the bathroom, even though the adults tried to keep her from seeing, and a terrible image explodes inside her head of enormous twin pillars of light in the far distance that sound like they’re screaming, crying out in unthinkable agony, and the ocean was surging away from them in all directions, rushing toward her, and there was something vibrantly red on its surface, like blood staining the water… incredible amounts of blood as far as the eye could see… And his necklace was there, it was with her, but _he_ was gone… Father was completely gone…

She snaps out of it, and realizes Kaworu isn’t in the car anymore. Quickly she looks around, and she sees him through the front window — approaching an exposed part of the precipice, where some of the railing came off from the force of Eva-00’s explosion, and there’s nothing in the way but some warning tape. But no sooner has she noticed the tape than it spontaneously splits in the middle of its length, both ends dropping to the ground, and Kaworu easily steps past.

_Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck……_

Misato scrambles out of the car. “Kaworu-kun!” As she runs for him, she can’t think of anything to say that isn’t trite and stupid, but, damn it, she has to say something… “Kaworu-kun! Turn around! That’s an order!!”

He doesn’t turn around — but he does, at least, stop as soon as he reaches the edge, and she’s able to catch up with him. Hands slipped into the pockets of his pilot pants, and face blank of emotion, he gazes out over what used to be Tokyo-3, a hot breeze playing with his messy hair.

Misato, catching her breath, moves in a little bit closer. “For a second, I thought you were going to—”

He turns toward the southwest, his expression becoming indiscernible. “I’ve tried many, many times already.” An uncomfortable pause. “It never makes any difference.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conversation on the overlook got long enough that I had to split it into two chapters. Hopefully just two.<_<;; A change of scenery would be nice, and all. 
> 
> These chapters are difficult ones, since they’re sort of a battle between emotion and exposition — the two fighting for supremacy. Determining a nice, organic flow of conversation for getting the siblings where I want them to be is no easy task. There are so many possible ways for things to proceed, so many opportunities for tangents to form that can’t be turned back on task and spiral completely out of control. My Scrivener folder for 10 and 11’s assembly process are the biggest mess in the fic so far. Whatever is required to get the job done, I suppose…
> 
> Misato’s creepy ogling at the beginning is written under the supposition that Kaworu, in the fic, has a more realistic height for a 14-year-old male than the complete nonsense we get in the anime (for not just him, but all of the kids). I’m not sure he’s *quite* on track to be as tall as his dad (who I decided is a ridiculous 6’2” for reasons that only _Crying Man_ needs to worry about), due to being a freak who grew up in a containment compound and all, but he’s definitely way taller than anime!Kaworu.
> 
> Kaworu is “actually” calling Misato *oneesan*, or maybe *aneue*, but “Sister” fits so perfectly well into his weird speech patterns that there’s no need to keep the Japanese here.
> 
> Whether or not non-human life gets incorporated into the Singular Being is… ambiguous? Since it’s called the *Human* Instrumentality Project, though, I’m assuming it’s “humans only” for fanfic purposes, with everybody else being collateral of humanity’s ambitions (just like in real life :p ).
> 
> Oh, Misato, stoking the flames of your Daddy Hate-Boner so very recently after basking in the glow of your regular Daddy Boner… Quite the ambivalent lass, isn’t she?


	11. Eros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A doomed world. Dueling futures. The power of touch. A hidden enemy revealed.

There’s no way to properly acknowledge the extent of personal suffering that Kaworu just revealed to her through such a blunt, dark admission. “Kaworu-kun…” Misato says, “I’m— I’m so sorry.”

They simply stand there in quiet for a time, the cicadas singing all around them and the clouds rolling overhead within the big blue sky. Kaworu still there on the edge, hands concealed, his face turned away from her just enough to make his expression hard to discern. Her brother’s body language couldn’t read any clearer, though: he looks painfully lost and alone.

Misato grabs the outside of her left arm. “I’m being an asshole, aren’t I?” she admits. “I’m not holding up my end here.”

“You’re afraid. I know. It’s the same for me.” So gentle. There’s no judgment in his tone at all, only compassion. “But please understand… We can’t let ourselves give in to that fear.” He stares out at the crater-lake, feet slightly overhanging the precipice’s edge. “Fear… is the death of trust.”

It occurs to her then, and she wonders how it didn’t strike her much earlier: this boy feels significantly older than his years. It’s not the resemblance to Father. And it’s entirely _in spite of_ his “delayed” qualities — the side effects of being isolated. The more he reveals his heart to her, the more she sees it. And she has no idea how to explain it to herself, or what it could possibly mean.

His need for acceptance is a little heart-breaking. She doesn’t feel any reason so far to doubt his earnestness or honesty. But how can someone raised by wolves like Seele place this much naive trust in her? Shouldn’t he know better? “I just don’t understand, Kaworu-kun,” Misato says. “What do you need my approval for? Why expose yourself like this to someone you barely know?”

He seems to sigh, just a little. “I’ve been kept from all possibility of forming a true human connection for most of this miserable life. But now I’m here, and so are you. Should I have merely stared from a distance and never approached? Should I have never attempted to cultivate our own connection, simply because it’s difficult?”

“I’m not saying that, I just…” Misato fidgets briefly. This kid and his armor-piercing questions. “We have the same father and all, but we’re from completely different worlds. Our goals couldn’t be more different. All you’re doing is hurting yourself, by expecting anything from me…”

Kaworu looks over his shoulder at her and gives her a pointed look. “What is your goal, Sister? Do you truly know? Is it to see me dead? Will that please you? Will that consummate your existence?”

“No, not anymore… I don’t care about that anymore.” A strange admission, but… he’s her brother. Of course she doesn’t want him to die. Of course she wants to avoid that if it’s possible. “Preventing Third Impact is the only thing that matters.” Now Misato gives him a steel-eyed gaze in turn. “You haven’t convinced me that it’s inevitable. You haven’t shown me why you can’t simply join the fight against it.”

“And what about the truth you seek?” Kaworu parries. “What if it happens to be discomforting?”

Crap. That’s right. She never answered him from before. “I’ll… just have to deal with it, I guess. But you’re making unfair demands, too. You want me to believe you right away. It doesn’t work like that, Kaworu-kun.”

Abruptly, he tenses up, and his gaze drops down. “But there really is no time. …… Not for me.”

“Why?” she says. “Give me a real reason. Not some vague bullshit one.”

His eyes turn toward the drop-off at his feet. “I’ve been forcefully kept alive all this time, locked away, a subject for study and observation. Most Lilin think of themselves as the default ‘human’… so a half-Lilin might as well be ‘not human at all’.”

“‘Lilin’?” she says. He’s used that term a number of times, hasn’t he? “What does that even me—”

But he keeps going, as if he didn’t hear her. “I was treated as a person only inasmuch as it was convenient for them. I only ever existed for their own satisfaction.” Extreme vulnerability is creeping into his poise, more and more. “Do you really think they would let me leave my cage if I had actual potential to live however I pleased? If I was capable of posing the slightest threat to them? Hunting them down, taking my rightful revenge?” He laughs bitterly. “No, Sister. I’m an engineered being. I may be powerful right now, for this blink of time’s eye, but I do not have the freedoms that most life-forms possess.”

What has she started this time? He’s so mysterious it’s hard to know what will make him upset like this. “Kaworu-kun…” she says, eyeing the edge of the precipice nervously. “Can you come away from there now?”

He doesn’t move a muscle.

She doesn’t know if he is being willfully obstinate or has simply let himself get absorbed by the force of his own despair, but this is just too uncomfortable for her to idly stand by any longer. “I said”—she grabs him by the bend of his arm—“to get back!” Using the momentum of her entire body, she pulls him back behind the railing. He doesn’t even try to keep his footing; he simply stumbles backward to where she wants him to go.

Misato wants to feel mad at her brother for being like this. He’s turned inward on his pain, passive to the outside world. It’s too much like Father. She can’t stand it. And then she realizes she’s still holding his arm, and she immediately lets go and steps away. But the impression of touch remains… electricity crackling on the palm of her hand and running down to her fingertips.

Kaworu is straightening himself up, regaining his bearings somewhat, slowly turning to face her. The electricity sinks into her, and it starts resurfacing in places it shouldn’t. Misato can’t stop her eyes from needlessly lingering upon aspects of the boy that should be simply incidental. Her hand wants more, and it lets itself imagine what “more” might feel like. There’s a warmth in her abdomen. A reflexive tightening, somewhere down there…

_He_ _’s Father; he’s hurting; he’s beautiful; he’s real; he’s right here, right now…_

And then, of all possible times, he reaches out for her, and awkwardly grasps her hand with his.

Misato’s heartbeat escalates fiercely. Why did he do that? Is he messing with her on purpose? She quickly tries to mentally distance herself from this situation, but she can’t. She can’t stop her hand from seeking a more comfortable embrace with his and squeezing it back, nor stop herself from looking into his eyes — those beautiful melancholy pools of red that want to suck her in and never let go.

She has to stop this or she’ll do something horrible and stupid that she’ll immediately regret. Distraction. The conversation. Get him talking again. Get her mind away from everything else.

“Kaworu-kun…” she says. “Are you really saying what I think you are? That you have some kind of… failsafe… ‘programmed’ into you? Like, an actual physical time limit?” When he answers with nothing but resigned silence, she continues, “Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?”

“It’s not a persuasive argument for anything,” he says numbly. “There was no point in leading with it.”

This kid’s story is getting more fucked up all the time. “It’s your god-damned _life_! How do you expect me to see your point of view if I don’t know something so basic?! What’s going to happen to you? How??”

His fingers try to slide further between hers, as if seeking reassurance, but his expression remains blank. “How, indeed? I don’t precisely know. But I estimate that have no more than three days remaining before I start to find out.”

The words come out of their own accord. “That’s awful…”

“After that, everything is beyond my control. Anything I wish to do of my own free will, with an able body and sound mind, must happen before then.”

“You don’t know _anything_ about what will happen?” Misato says. “That can’t be true…”

Kaworu forces a weak smile upon his face. “You don’t need to worry yourself with the details, Sister. There’s nothing anyone can do.”

Misato realizes then, she didn’t really listen to him earlier. When he brought up ‘advocating for his own life’. Staring vacantly at their intertwined fingers, she says, “So what _are_ you going to do? With your time left?” She looks back into his eyes. “You’re going to end it by attempting Third Impact, aren’t you?”

Absentmindedly, he tries to retract his hand, perhaps desiring to stuff it into the safety of a pocket. But Misato tightens her grip. He won’t get away from her that easily.

“Aren’t you?” she repeats.

“I _want_ you to understand,” he says, voice uneven. “I _need_ you to understand. If you don’t, then… there’s no point. It’s already over.”

“No riddles!” She wrings his hand. “Tell me what you mean!”

He looks so worn-down. Like this conversation is taking everything out of him. _This conversa_ _—_ “The field… Are you still protecting us??”

“Yes, of course.” He looks at their intertwined fingers, like it’s some sort of strange alien being and no part of it belongs to him. “I just… didn’t expect it to be so exhausting. I’ve never done this for an extended period of time before… Enclose within my own ego another who is not, in some sense, a part of me. Well, I suppose you and I _are_ part of one another, but it’s not in quite the same way as—” He simply cuts himself off, like he was about to say something awkward.

“I’m not sure what that means,” she says, “but it _does_ sound like it would get tiring after a while. If you need to stop—”

“No. I can keep going, a bit more. Every moment is precious, after all.” He lets himself squeeze her hand back. For a moment, he seems to become absorbed in the microcosm of sensation there — everything that is passing between them at that point of connection.

Her mind turns irrational again. Toward all the sensation she _could_ share with this amazing creature during his last days on Earth. Misato could show him that the world isn’t only pain after all. She’s completely insane, isn’t she? Or would this kid make _any_ woman still in her reproductive years feel this way, simply as a matter of course? Just then, he runs his thumb over one of her fingers; a tiny gesture of tenderness, completely innocuous… but she feels that insignificant droplet of energy magnify inside her body, pushing her ever closer to a point of no return.

Kaworu shows no acknowledgment of his sister’s impure mind. “So…” he says. “‘No more riddles’, you said. If I tell you… will you listen? Will you let me finish saying what I must? Even though it is difficult, and I know it is all too much at once…” His gorgeous red eyes glisten with a feeling approaching desperation. “…I need you to only listen, and then I will answer anything else you might ask of me.”

Misato needs to force herself to focus on his words now. Not on physical attributes. Not on ways that she might potentially enjoy those attributes. His _words_ . The formation of trust. The sibling bond. ‘ _Yes, that_ _’s right,_ ’ she thinks. ‘ _You_ _’re thinking_ that _way about your brother, you sick fuck._ ’ But it’s too late for her anyway. These kinds of thoughts are nothing new. Fighting them again and again and again is tiring. If this boy is only going to be in her life for mere days, why bother? Whatever happens happens. She can’t let herself care about it…

She gets her act together long enough to nod vigorously in agreement. She’ll listen, all right. To the sweet dulcet tones of his voice, so much like Father’s; gentle and silky smooth and dashingly restrained like Father’s, but lighter and airier… She’ll listen, as long as he’s here with her, to whatever he has to say.

“I think that perhaps I have been a bit dogmatic in my approach,” Kaworu confesses. “I’ve grown too accustomed to being told what to think and what’s of importance. I’ve come to take much for granted, within the dark cage the Patriarchs kept me. Such as the notion that Third Impact is inevitable. Let me begin again there.” He takes a deep breath. “But first, a question for you, Sister. What do you believe will happen if Third Impact does _not_?”

 _Curious_. “I dunno. Nothing. Everything proceeds the way it’s supposed to.”

Kaworu’s brow crinkles slightly. “Is this future one with or with _out_ promise?”

“It’s whatever we make of it,” Misato says matter-of-factly.

“Oh, how I wish it were so simple,” Kaworu says. “I suspect another important truth has been withheld from your knowledge.”

Misato’s heart skips a beat. “What?” she asks. “What is it?”

“Have you never wondered, Sister, why only one of Adam’s children is active at a time? Or why the birth rate for your people is steadily falling?”

“Maybe, at some point, but…” There was never an “official” explanation for the first one, and it always did feel excessively convenient, to the point it attracted conspiracy theories like moths to a flame. The second has been thoroughly scrutinized by academics, but it’s still quietly alarming; there are certain elements of it that haven’t really been accounted for. “Are you implying that they’re connected somehow?”

“There is a massive scar upon the Earth that never closed,” Kaworu says. “It could have been the beginning of a new world, but this alternate Earth was aborted before it could be born, and so is the embodiment of death itself. Nothing can live there, not even the beings for which it was intended.”

Misato considers this a moment. “You’re talking about Second Impact, aren’t you?”

He nods somberly. “The immediate consequences of that event are no secret — but what about the long-term ones? Might certain aspects of the disaster have only revealed themselves years after the fact?”

She has to admit, it never much crossed her mind. The Antarctic has the appearance of a severe human-caused ecological disaster — and, in a sense, that’s exactly what it is — except it had the courtesy to self-seal. It didn’t contaminate the outlying ocean. Or so she thought. Was that another lie? “Tell me,” she says.

“Second Impact ending the way it did, with Earth trapped between two possible versions of itself,” Kaworu says, “prevents the… I believe they call it the ‘psychosphere’… from functioning properly. It is the sum of all natural processes that govern the movement and cycling of spiritual energy. Currently, two antagonistic psychospheres are competing for dominance — the Lilithic, and the Adamic. The result is that _both_ are in decline, and this will continue until Earth can no longer sustain human life. The precise details make little difference.”

Misato becomes rigid, and her grasp upon Kaworu’s hand tightens. “So… you’re saying that we’re screwed if we do nothing, and that’s where this whole ‘inevitability’ thing comes from? Does Third Impact have the ability to _un_ screw us, or something??”

“Another Impact could effectively ‘reset’ the psychosphere,” he says. “Meaning, the greater cataclysm could be stopped with a smaller one. Surely better for humanity to survive transformed than to not survive at all.”

“Why do we have to be transformed?”

“It can’t be helped. Things cannot be reset without destroying, at least temporarily, the body of every life-form on this planet. The real question to be asked at this point is, which Third Impact? _Whose?_ Not Seele’s, surely.”

Misato mulls over this frantically. “Wait, but… According to this, wouldn’t Seele be doing it as a way of saving humanity? Ensuring it survives in _some_ form?”

Kaworu shakes his head, like he’s chiding a small child. “It’s nothing more than an excuse. A weak justification. They made it possible for Second Impact to happen, and through their own powers and cunning they ensured that the same event failed. This was their plan all along. A world that _needed_ to be saved.” A tired laugh. “Their prophecies are all the self-fulfilling kind — is there really any other?”

Misato’s grip becomes harder still. “They’re the ones?” she whispers. “ _Seele are the ones who did that?!_ ”

“You see, Sister,”—Kaworu places his other hand upon Misato’s, and the influx of heat and pressure relaxes her slightly—“Seele are uniquely dangerous among your kind in that they have justified their Thanatos to themselves; that it’s not truly death, but merely a step forward… an act of creation unto itself. Perhaps that stance _can_ be taken, but I am an ally to life, and I cannot abide by it. Their ‘creation’, in truth, is reversion to a prior state, the restoration of the primordial all-soul — the source of all consciousness that we have come to call ‘human’. But not entirely a reversion, you see, because the singular being, the new Adam Qadmon, temporarily requires a body in the physical world… a divine vessel that exists for the sole purpose of enabling this entity’s completion.

“Your race, the Lilin, along with the children of Adam, are the two humanities that Adam Qadmon will fold back into itself first. It will strip Earth bare of every last human soul. And then it will move on, driven by its own unfathomable solitude, something that can only be ameliorated by taking ever more minds into itself… But it will never be satisfied, not even when it has destroyed all colonized worlds, because when that happens its loneliness will be perfect, like everything else about it. And Adam Qadmon will have no choice but to break apart once more.”

It sounds like a fairy tale, if a cosmic nightmare can be considered a fairy tale.

“My people — most of them — believed that the division of the all-soul was meant to be, that its sacrifice meant something… The One was lost, but a beautiful spectrum of countless possibilities opened up as a result. Perhaps not unlike the universe eventually contracting back in upon itself and then exploding forth again, it is inevitable for Adam Qadmon to do the same… But Thanatos must not be allowed to hasten this process. It must be fought with the opposing force until the battle is over. That is Eros.”

Here his eyes take on that unusually intense, almost frightening quality.

“This… is where I come in. I seek to reclaim the Essence of Life that was stripped away from me, reject the idea of death… Resurrect Earth’s one true God, the Mother of Angels—”

“Adam… You _are_ going to merge with Adam?!”

Kaworu continues without missing a beat. “—to ordain the genesis of a new world and forever watch over it, in place of the false god of darkness and desolation that snuffed out Her light so many eons ago. In that future, humanity on Earth will not disappear… It will _not_ pave the way for a god of annihilation. It will continue, and grow, and thrive, and extend deep into the cosmos to light many more beacons of life in the darkness… blazing stars of defiance, screaming ‘we exist, we observe, we create’!”

He at last stops, and the intensity drains from him. He seems almost surprised by what just took place. He takes a moment to regain his bearings, then looks at Misato expectantly.

Their hands remain touching, but Misato is thinking about other things right now.

“I have to be honest, Kaworu-kun…” She threads the fingers of her free hand through her bangs anxiously. “I— I barely understood a thing that you just said. I still don’t really _get_ what your plan is or how it’s different from Seele’s.”

“To put it in the simplest possible terms…” His face abruptly turns impish. “I will save the souls of this world by completing Second Impact.”

“Wait, but…” Misato feels the rage starting to bubble up again. “Second Impact is what started this whole mess! And you want to—”

“Complete the process to undo the ‘mess’. Yes,” Kaworu says, a bit too smugly. “And doing that means I — or, rather, _we_ — must helm Third Impact before anyone else can.” He smiles, but it’s not like his other smiles from today. It’s closer to the overdone smirk from when he first approached her. “Better to make changes with our own hands for the future, and see to it that the things we care about most are fully secured, than leave all to wishful thinking. Wouldn’t you agree? Miracles don’t simply happen on their own.”

Misato feels positively oversaturated. She said she would listen and all, but she’s losing her patience for him quickly. It’s like the conga line of weirdness never ends. What happened to ‘the truth, plain and straight’?

“‘We’…” she repeats. “But I— What do I have to do with any of this? Second Impact ravaged my life!”

“Indeed,” Kaworu says, his expression almost patronizing. “Aren’t you curious how things might have gone if it had been allowed to finish? What your life might be like now?” His eyes are nearly cold. “You wouldn’t merely have me. You would still have all your family. Including the father we share, and the mother you thought was lost.”

She fiercely shakes him off her and reclaims her hand. “What the hell are you talking about?! Are you saying, like, that Second Impact would have raised the dead? Don’t fuck with me!!”

“It’s still not too late for him. For the man we both love.” His eyes look strangely glassy now, and his smirk is flattening. “He can still be saved. But I can’t do it without you.”

“‘ _Love_ ’…? You’ve never even met him! What the fuck do you know about him?!” She’s being jerked around; there’s no way to keep the anger down anymore. “And what could you possibly need me for? What could I _possibly_ do that you can’t?” Her hands roll into fists. “Why don’t you just do whatever it is you need to do, and leave _me_ the hell out of it?”

“Sister Katsuragi…” Kaworu is rapidly shifting back to his usual austere self. “You may feel powerless… that you have not the ability to affect what happens. But this isn’t true. You have more power to change the world than you can possibly imagine.” He laughs then, a gentle sound suggesting forlorn remembrance. “Father had trouble believing it too. But you — both of you — have always had the grace of God on your side.”

At last Misato lashes out, seizing the boy by the collar of his shirt and pulling him toward her snarling face. “Enough of this shit! You’ve been acting like you _know_ Father from the moment you first spoke to me! But there ’s _no way_ you possibly can! Do you think I’m stupid?!”

“No!” he says, his expression lost and confused. “I share all these things with you because I believe in your ability to—”

“Well, there’s _something_ important that you’re not telling me,” Misato growls, glaring darkly into his innocent eyes. “And if there’s only _one_ more thing I hear from you today, it better be a goddamn explanation.”

His eyes are consumed by the weight of resignation as they dart away from her. “I see. I suppose you _do_ deserve to know, before anything else happens.” He gestures for her to let him go.

She does so — to her amazement, in a controlled manner — though her scowl doesn’t fully subside.

Kaworu steadies himself with a deep inhalation, and finally he looks back at her. A severe, penetrating red stare. “Sister,” he says, “the reason I know things that it seems I shouldn’t… the reason I ‘act like’ I know Father… It’s because…”

Misato has no idea what he’s going to say. Is Kaworu going to turn out to actually be her father reborn, or something ridiculous like that? She can feel her pulse hammering away at her temples. _Stop drawing it out; just say it already!_

“It’s because the one you Lilin call ‘Adam’…… is me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Majors kudos to BB for giving me the key to the “inevitability” problem by posing the question “what happens if Third Impact *doesn’t*?”.
> 
> “Psychosphere” is a play on “ecosphere” (“psycho-” as in *psyche*, or “soul”).
> 
> “Adam Qadmon Mk.II: God of Destruction” is what I feel the logical conclusion of EoE’s “Bad End” — Eva-01 becoming “the Devil”, rather than “the Ark” — would be. Someone has pointed out the resemblance to _Ideon_’s Ide, which is interesting. I’ve seen _Ideon_, but I didn’t absorb very much of it; and since NGE is heavily influenced by _Ideon_ anyway, it feels at least *slightly* possible that “the Devil” had been an implicit _Ideon_ reference all along and I just managed to accidentally reconstruct the parts EoE left unsaid. But who knows, really. Brains are weird.
> 
> The stuff about Kaworu having a “programmed failsafe” that forces him to act within days of his dispatch is left very deliberately vague for now. I’ve played around with multiple possibilities in the past and I’m not sure which exact variation I want to use yet. It’s kind of fun when there are surprises left even for me.


	12. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misato and Kaworu return to their abodes and seek solace in solitude.

Fifteen years of trauma and fear seize her heart, and on instinct alone she starts to back away from him.

“ _Adam_?” Misato says. “ _You_?”

Kaworu regards her calmly as his hands seek refuge within his pockets.

“But… that doesn’t even make sense,” she asserts. “You’re the _son_ of Adam, not Adam itself.”

He remains placid. “I told you, didn’t I? My existence is one of paradox.”

Soon her back is against her car. The urge to escape is rising fast. There’s no way the alien monster from Antarctica can be this beautiful boy too. How does that even work? Kaworu was created while her father and Adam were attached, wasn’t he? So Adam and Kaworu coexisted; they’re not the same. And one _couldn_ _’t_ have become the othe—

Suddenly, she thinks about everything Ritsuko showed her and told her in the old Gehirn facilities.

“You’re _not_ Adam itself,” Misato says. “But they must have, I dunno, put Adam’s soul into you somehow… Kind of like the Evas, but in reverse. That’s what you’re _really_ saying, isn’t it?”

Kaworu smiles. “See how quickly your mind moves? Of course I was right to believe in you.”

Misato tries to reconcile the tender smile that is just like Father’s with the toothy grimace frozen on the giant face she saw at Father’s experiment. Such an ugly, horrible face. And she can’t… She just can’t do it. She’s seen how the copies of Adam behave. They’re savage and deranged. Supposedly they’re human, but there’s no sign that a thinking, feeling person is actually in there. Kaworu has a monster like _that_ inside him, somewhere? No… _No, no, no, no_ _……_

“I see,” he says softly. “You’re scared of her, aren’t you?”

“Who? _Adam_?!” Misato’s body has become so stiff she’s starting to tremble. “Of course I am! I’d be crazy if I _wasn_ _’t_! After the things I’ve seen?!”

His eyes don’t waver from her, but melancholy infuses them deeply. “What happened that day was terrifying even to one such as me. I know that won’t make it better. It won’t make the scars ache any less. But, at least, you know now that you’re no longer suffering that memory all alone.”

It _should_ be wonderful news. But Misato can’t release the tension in her body. She can barely bring herself to even look at him anymore.

“The fear you feel, that of the Other… It’s natural, and I won’t fault you for it. But I know you have the strength to conquer it, as well. Even Father, as fragile as he was—”

“Stop!” Misato cries. “I don’t want to hear any more!”

There’s a long period of silence. She doesn’t look at him, not directly, but just from the way his silhouette changes in her peripheral vision, it’s clear he feels hurt.

Gazing vacantly toward the ground, she murmurs, “I need to go home.”

“I see,” he says. “May I have my jacket, then?”

She retrieves it and tosses it to him, continuing to avoid eye contact.

“So,”—Kaworu pulls his jacket back on—“you do not wish to speak any further.”

“I didn’t say that!” she cries. “Or… well… I didn’t _mean_ that. I just… need a little space, okay?” It’s taking all of her strength to hold the tears back. There’s far too much emotional strain weighing upon her, demanding immediate release, but crying would make it so much worse right now.

He considers this. “I suppose I can’t truly complain. I wouldn’t be able to maintain my field for much longer anyway.” He starts to turn to leave. “I cherish this time we have together, Sister. Whenever you’re ready, we will find each other again.”

Kaworu heads in the direction of the highway, walking at a casual pace, not once looking back.

Misato watches his receding figure from the corner of her eye as she stands there, stiff against her car, hands splayed like spiders and fingertips pressing hard against the metal. As much as the idea that her brother contains Adam scares her, a new fear is very abruptly surfacing: that she’s going to screw this up — if she didn’t already — and she’s going to lose this precious creature she only just found.

She bolts toward him and calls out. “Kaworu-kun! Wait!”

He promptly stops, and completely spins around to face her.

“You’re okay, right? It’s _really_ okay if we stop for now? You aren’t going to run off and… y’ _know_ …?” How _desperate_ she must sound. “Because I want to talk more. I really do.” In spite of all her misgivings and anxieties, she forces herself to smile then.

His entire face breaks out into a broad grin. “No need to worry, Sister Katsuragi. I wish to enjoy this world for as long as I can. And during that all-too-short a time, I’ll accept as much of you as you’re willing to give me. After all…” His demeanor becomes almost bashful. “…I was waiting my entire life to meet you.”

Misato is so stunned that she has nothing else to say. So many opposing thoughts battle ferociously within her mind that, by the time she snaps out of it, her brother has already vanished to the west.

She returns to her car, and speeds off in the opposite direction.

***

Misato wanders into her apartment in a complete daze. It feels like her center is floating precariously upon eddies of information and emotion that swirl around inside her, agitating her insides endlessly; and her entire body must remain tense to keep this mess from spilling out. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to be feeling, so she’s just feeling everything all at once.

Without even bothering to undress, she flops onto her futon. She’s utterly exhausted on every level. Far too much has happened in a single day, starting with her dubious decision to visit Ritsuko. Misato has dropped down a precipitous emotional water slide, from realizing Kaworu Nagisa looks like her father; to being told her father’s genes were merged with Adam’s to create him, making him her half-brother; to realizing Kaworu might have been planted to initiate Third Impact through Eva-02; to seeking an audience with him immediately; to… whatever the hell happened there on the overlook.

Today is the first time she and Kaworu have truly communicated, and already… he’s managed to stoke a fire under her heart. It’s happening much too fast, and it’s so powerful that not even the visceral horror of learning he contains the First Angel’s soul may make any difference in the end.

Passion and tenderness igniting like a brushfire. The absolute terror of letting something precious slip through her fingers. The intense need to fill in the void in her soul, whatever the cost. It’s the same as before. It’s just like when she met Kaji.

The circumstances were far less interesting, of course. Nothing more than a run-of-the-mill coed social gathering. Outdoors, with ample food and drink. She was just there to lose herself in the noise, not because she thought she would make any kind of real connection. But then she saw him. Despite his ruggedly handsome good looks, and being surrounded by people, he seemed so perfectly alone. But then he saw that she was looking, and his eyes filled with gentle longing. As they beheld one another for the first time, it felt as if everything had already been determined.

They smiled at each other as if they had always known one another, and the feeling that overtook her mind and body was one so precious she couldn’t possibly let it get away from her. Misato went to him, and they were immediately talking and laughing. He told her in hushed tones that he didn’t much like these gatherings either, so why not sneak off by themselves?

She’d never been with someone before; she had only gotten close to it. She always chickened out when the time came to expose herself, because she didn’t want to explain her scar, and she didn’t want to be judged for it either. But Ryoji Kaji was different. Around him, she felt, from the very start, a perfect sense of security, the complete freedom to be herself. There was no need to wait for any further sign. They went to her place and hung out, and, when he didn’t make the first move, she went right on ahead.

Losing herself in him was the most wonderful thing she could remember feeling, ever. She didn’t want to let that feeling go. She didn’t want to let him escape her. So she held onto him, as tightly as she could. He was sweet and generous and just the right amount of puckish. He didn’t let her feel self-conscious about her scar (or anything else for that matter), telling her that it was part of who she was, and it helped create the person he would meet, so it was a beautiful thing. It was so cheesy, and he seemed to know it, but it came from the heart, too. He was always a little shy about his feelings, but there was never any real ambiguity about what they were, either.

After sleeping alone for so many years, and suffering countless nightmares without anyone to provide security or comfort, finally she had somebody. He wasn’t scared when he saw her thrashing in her sleep for the first time; he gave her someone to hold onto, without judgment or expectation. Having him in her life was so wonderful that she didn’t want him to leave her side. She tried to pretend, very unconvincingly, that she was only in it for the sex, because telling him the full reason why she wanted him close was too scary. And somehow, in spite of everything, he put up with her in that tiny apartment for a week straight.

By that point, she wasn’t scared of him drifting away. It was clear that he cared, and they could start dating normally. In the end, he stayed by her side. They even got a bigger place to move in together. He probably would have still been with her long after that, if she hadn’t ruined everything by cutting him loose and running away, as fast and far as possible. All because she finally realized she was drawn to him in the first place because he felt like Father, and so filled the void that Second Impact had created.

And then Kaji died too, right after she started letting him back in. That only made her realize the true depths of her solitude, and how she had forcefully numbed herself to it. Throwing Kaji away because of a stupid personal insecurity that didn’t even matter to him was the biggest mistake of her adult life.

Here now, with her brother, she has a chance, for however short a time, to reclaim the thing she let herself lose. As terrifying as it is, she wants to cling to him. She wants to let him complete her for however long this lasts. It’s stupid, it’s so stupid. He’s a replacement for her father all over again. She knows this but that doesn’t make the need go away. It can’t. Right now, it doesn’t matter what Kaworu is. All that matters is how his smile, his eyes, his soothing voice, his fingers laced through hers… how _all_ those things make her feel.

In haste, she cleans off the vibrator hiding in her dresser drawer, undresses, and begins to lose herself in the warmth of her own touch.

The tension in her mind and body is overwhelming. She needs this desperately. As desperately as Kaworu needs her approval. Her brother, an Angel who could end the world at any time, wants her to tell him that it’s okay. That whatever he seeks to do, she’s okay with it. He’s right — she _does_ have far more power than she ever knew. How intensely, and inexplicably, he craves her blessings is frightening, like so much else about him. But it’s also incredibly endearing. Imagine what he could accomplish with that drive to please and provide… that need for affirmation and love. Just imagine.

Earlier, he said he had “enclosed her within his ego”. She doesn’t know what that really means, but it sounded distinctly erotic… now so more than ever. She’ll enclose him, too. She wants that pale, lithe body on top of hers… She wants to hold him close and feel him inside her, touching the deepest parts of her, melting into her soul… feel his weight blissfully pushing against her seat of pleasure again and again… She wants to run her fingers through his silky hair, hold his face up to hers, plunge her tongue into his mouth… And, she wants to show him love, show him that life isn’t just suffering, that it can be warm and pleasant and beautiful too…

_Whatever you do, it’s okay, Kaworu-kun, because you’re my brother. I love you and I know you would never do anything to harm me, and I’ll never do anything to hurt you again either…_

_I’ll be here for you, any way you need me. I’ll show you all the wonderful things there are to know. I’ll protect you from anything that might want to hurt you. I’ll give you a safe place to cry if it hurts._

_I’ve needed you for so long, and you’re the only thing in this world that I need. Now that you’re here, nothing else matters._

_Never leave me. Please, just never leave me. I don’t want to be alone again. I can’t be alone again. Let me join with you like this. You inside me, and me inside you. Forever._

When all is done, the warmth of the moment soon yields to bitterness. The intensity of her irrational thoughts is utterly terrifying. She curls up there on her bedsheets and the tears start coming, and she wonders, for the millionth time in her life, what the hell is wrong with her.

But she knows exactly what’s wrong with her. Kaworu effectively _is_ her father reborn. He looks the same, there is substantial overlap in personality and mannerisms, and he arrived here already possessing memories about and fond sentiments toward her. Even if he isn’t 100% the same person, he seems to know Father so well, _some_ how, that it hardly matters. A look- and feel-a-like with extensive knowledge of the real thing is not all that different from the real thing, especially when the latter is no longer available. To Misato’s senses, the age and pigmentation discrepancies are mere details, and they don’t matter, because Kaworu is capable of being seen and heard and touched, and her father isn’t.

She only started talking to him mere hours ago, but she misses him. She already misses him. So many ridiculous feelings are passing through her. They don’t make any sense for the amount of time she’s known him. None at all. She hates how this boy is effortlessly doing all of this to her. How easily he stirs up two kinds of love that aren’t supposed to go together. And the worst part is, it feels good, and she wants more. She doesn’t deserve this. She’s awful and she doesn’t deserve to have this picture of perfection seeking to spend his final days with a revolting woman like her.

Misato considers torturing herself over it. Beating herself up for her thoughts. But she already told herself that she wouldn’t, not this time. Things just are what they are. She can’t fix this part of herself before he’ll be gone forever. Given the circumstances, he probably won’t mind. Maybe it would even be a relief. Going from not being treated as fully human to this — capable of instilling emotional and physical longing in another. He’s surely been taught to hate himself, that he’s an abomination that shouldn’t exist. How amazing it would feel to be wanted and desired, after living a life like his.

So there’s no reason to hold back. Between his expressiveness and his powers, there’s no reason to think anything could happen that wasn’t meant to happen, either. None at all.

They’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.

***

Tabris wandered down the Hakone Skyline and eventually reached the south-west border of the crater lake. At such close proximity, he was able to better feel out the area without needless risk, and quickly confirmed it. They were there, all of them. As the sun set, he sent a blessing of love to each one, and counted his own blessings that their spirits had found a way to assemble here no matter where they might have fallen. Having them all here at the time of greatest need could make all the difference, in the end.

Soon he would be able to return and do what needed to be done.

By the time he returns to the Geofront, night has fallen. After what has come to pass today, some relaxation seems to be in order. Therapeutic heat, perhaps. There is a facility on the way to staff quarters that is used for such purposes. He might also cleanse himself there, which — after the time he spent under the unrelenting sun earlier — feels very tempting indeed. He shall go.

As ever, the two entrance ways produce a moment’s distress. He must always bear in mind that the “correct” one is that opposite what his heart points to. Such instances partly make him long for the obliviousness of childhood, when things like this did not matter and were never so much as contemplated. But he was almost completely helpless back then, too, and never again would he want that. The pain of learning the truth buried within him was his only real recourse — because his greatest powers come from that same truth.

Instruction on navigating “public places” such as a bath house was left for educational modules only provided to him starting around two months ago. Scholarly knowledge they gave him exceptionally free access to, but whatever the Patriarchs considered “cultural knowledge” was closely guarded, under such pitiful pretenses as needing to protect his innocent soul from the sin of the Lilin world. Somewhat peculiarly, cultural knowledge that was centuries old was without issue, even though no legitimate reason was provided for why _that_ was not dangerously sinful as well. As would be expected, these delayed modules have been barely sufficient; they reduce his disorientation only sporadically. They would probably say, “From a young age, Tabris, you have given us ample reason to place faith in your ability to adapt to difficult situations”, and leave it at that…

Few people are present. He does not bother them, and goes to an area where they are not. He sits down and begins the self-cleansing ritual. As he lathers attention upon his own body, his mind quickly wanders to his older sister, whose eyes did the same. ‘She exudes an exceptional libidinal force,’ he thinks. ‘I should be counting my blessings’ — for he will require her bounty of erotic energy _first_. But despair, and the desire for destruction — those will be needed as well, in delicate harmony with the lust for rebirth and creation. Everything hinges upon that perfect balance of libido and destrudo. Such irony, no?, in channeling the power of Thanatos in the service of Eros, but he knows it can be done. It was very nearly accomplished before, with the soul of another Katsuragi.

_Another Katsuragi…_

A mirror lay before him, but Tabris dislikes looking upon his own face. He knows it — among other, far more detested features — to be fundamentally mismatched to his soul’s self-image, a thing of ancient and divine beauty that — when still manifest — shaped Adam’s spiritual form for what is now so inconceivable a timespan. However, if he can bring himself to smile, then at least he can see the smile of the Lilin man who so adored Adam being reflected back at him. It is perhaps not an exaggeration to say that gazing upon that smile has been one of Tabris’s only sources of solace in the long, hard years since he lost Mama.

_Back then, you were the only one who didn’t look upon me as the Other. There was never any fear in your eyes. Not toward me. Only curiosity, fascination, adoration, veneration. You were different. You were always different._

_I could see the struggle. The pressure to conform. The barely restrained lust for rebellion. I understood perfectly. Because you came to me when it was not demanded of you, and exposed your beautifully flawed heart, and allowed the rhythms of your soul to respond to mine. Your true thoughts and feelings were never once in doubt._

_All would be confirmed when our minds finally touched, and at last we could begin to know one another as we both desired._

Recalling that connection so vividly, Tabris feels a deep pang within his chest, where a core should be. ‘Part of you is still here,’ he thinks, laying a hand over his solar plexus, ‘inside me.’ And in the mirror, a kind and melancholy gaze looks back at him, an expression that says, _I see you, and I acknowledge your pain, and I wish to commune with you._ Knowing what that face means, and who it originally belonged to, is the only reason Tabris can tolerate this mask of skin, muscle, and bone.

He lowers his chin to his chest and wraps his arms protectively around his body, allowing himself to wonder how being embraced by that man in a way beyond the merely spiritual would feel. Such a tantalizing thought — the prospect of such an anxiously awaited reunion — that his breath cannot help but quicken nor his pupils gape in want. His life’s blood begins to course through him with excitement. Tabris knows what that pleasant sensation of escalating, pulsating fullness is. For now, while keeping the offending phenomenon hidden from other eyes, he simply enjoys the feeling. A moment of being infused with sublime warmth from without and within; a ward against dread memories of being cold and alone for an unfathomable count of eons.

However, the consummation of such matters can only be avoided for so long. Remembering how he was gently chastised by Mama for engaging in genital self-touch around the researchers, and instructed to do such things when and where alone, he removes himself to his quarters to tend to this sordid duty.

Tabris’s vessel is currently undergoing the sexual maturation process of the Lilin male. The body’s imposition of new demands upon its owner is nothing surprising, of course. But the utterly haphazard biological rules by which Lilin mating abides dictate that this experience be _far_ more unpleasant than was already inevitable. Not only is routine relief of the reproductive physiology required for optimal mental functioning, it may be required _again_ at any time. Tabris loathes the constant grind upon his attentions. It is nothing more than a needless burden with no benefit to him. An outright farce, really. A unique transgenic individual such as himself has useless gametes. The cells in his gonads undergo ridiculous amounts of meiosis in the utterly blind hope that perhaps, somewhere, there exists a mate with compatible ova. The endless gametogenesis, the incessant drive to deposit the finished product, all of it… it serves no purpose. It is merely a form of binding by the Patriarchs, an ideal way to impose physical and spiritual humiliation at regular intervals. Being forced to confront, over and over, that which he is not.

When he can concentrate effectively enough to generalize the pleasure across his body, distancing his mind from the precise source of sensation, this maintenance is tolerable. Today, however, he feels all too aware of this body and the fraudulent contours it tries to impose upon his soul. He must force himself into an act of self-violation, one made all the more painful by how very close he is to being freed of this prison forever.

But at least, this time, he is able to alleviate his aching desire for a female body with fond thoughts of his sister, and with the hope of their hearts growing closer the next time they meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty weird chapter, right? This hadn’t been part of my existing outline, but after finishing the overlook encounter it just… felt right.
> 
> Regarding “You’re scared of her, aren’t you?”: I was asked if "her" would be 彼女 (kanojo, she/her) in the "original Japanese", and the answer is yes.
> 
> The material about Kaji was completely unplanned, and I was honestly surprised about how it all came together. I already knew that Kaji’s comment in episode #08 about Misato “tossing and turning in bed” has been taken to mean “she was having night terrors while they were dating”. (Or maybe just regular nightmares? Need to check this.) The heart-breaking dimension that this adds to the week-long sexathon is something I had never considered until now, but it’s so... perfect. The nightmares she’s having because of the event that took her father away, having their intensity reduced through the comfort of a a substitute father figure. Misato jolting awake in the middle of the night and needing Kaji available at all times for snuggles is so ;_;. That said, using the memories of her dead non-blood-related lover to justify lusting after her teenage brother is pretty messed up. (It’s not like Misato knows Kaworu is Secretly Billions Of Years Old yet, either…)
> 
> Kaworu’s rant about self-abuse is probably one of the most Reichu things ever. That is all.


	13. Ambivalence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misato grapples internally to redefine who her enemy is.

Misato takes long, confident strides toward the central pyramid elevator.

She did what she could last night to get her mind away from troubling and obsessive thoughts. She caught up on office memos. She toyed with her portable hacking terminal. She worked on the piles of paperwork still left from Tokyo-3’s destruction after god knows how many coffee-drowned all-nighters. But everything looped back to Kaworu “Nagisa” Katsuragi, one way or another. After the one time wasn’t enough, she let herself engage in further self-indulgence, hoping _maybe_ it would calm her down — but it only seemed to make everything worse. There was simply no avoiding her brother. So she stayed up late mulling over everything, including her options going forward.

She _could_ out Kaworu right now if she so desired. He probably would not even hold it against her if she did. Be disappointed, sure, but he _had_ to know that she was an enormous risk. Presumably he already has a plan in place, were she to betray his hopes for her. He’s been talking about ‘we’ while refusing to explain what that even means, but presumably it means precisely what it suggests: he actually does need her for something. _What_ , she can’t begin to imagine, but if it weren’t important it feels unlikely he would make the gamble in the first place. Whatever his backup plan, it’s suboptimal. She could mess him up good. But, given the things he’s said, there exists an equally likely chance that she would be messing everybody _else_ up, as well. Misato hadn’t known about Seele before, only the committee — and that missing piece brings _so_ much together. Kaworu could be absolutely correct about who the real enemy is, and if he is, then humanity would simply be ceding its future to a bunch of nut jobs by obstructing him.

This is dumb, she tells herself. Foolhardy. But she can’t currently come up with a good reason to reveal her brother to Nerv. Kaworu was sent by Seele but it’s clear he despises them. That doesn’t mean he’s loyal to Nerv, because of course he isn’t; he’s loyal only to himself. In the end, Misato’s the same. Nerv is just too much of a garbage fire to inspire her loyalty, packed as it is with too many warring ideologies and conflicting goals. You learn who your friends are, and everyone else might as well be the enemy.

Misato feels freed, almost. Before Kaworu, she had no concrete sense of where anything was going. Her only plan was to perform a hack and expose, then hope for the best. If Kaworu is both well-informed and sincere — and so far she’s seen no reason to doubt him; he’s occasionally evasive, but he is brutally honest about what he _does_ say — then this means her pathetic plan would have accomplished nothing. It means Kaji died for nothing. Kaworu’s right: Seele can’t be so easily stopped. The members are scattered around the world and know how to hide themselves. Even if Nerv HQ were raided, there are other branches, all of which have key data on record, along with projects so classified that even HQ personnel don’t have access clearance. It’s like a weed: leave a single seed behind, and it can bounce back.

That dead-end future is now behind her; Kaworu wants her to be part of _his_. Next time they speak, she will get after him about it — what purpose she could possibly serve in his plans. Her brother has survived fourteen years living under Seele’s roof, so he certainly doesn’t need her for moral support. Whatever it is, it must have something to do with whatever took place between Adam and their father during the contact experiment, as everything seems to come back to that day, one way or another. That must also be how Kaworu knows so much about him, like Adam and Father mind-melded or something. But more importantly, the connection they created — that _has_ to be what ushered in Second Impact itself. She remembers how Adam started to glow while Father was still attached. What’s the actual chain of causation? Was the experiment sabotaged to make that happen? Was it some result of the interplay between Father and Adam? Both?

The truth is right in front of her and she’s being too obstinate to let herself see it. But, at least for right this moment, it’s actually better if she doesn’t know.

Misato enters the elevator and starts going up. She already decided what she’s going to say. What her cover story is. The sooner she establishes one, the better, so that her meetings with Kaworu don’t elicit any more suspicion than necessary. If she seems completely open and honest, and feeds tasty-enough morsels here and there, then perhaps the Deputy Commander will be pleased and leave her mostly to her devices. The strict timetable means that she doesn’t need to maintain a pretense for very long, anyway.

The joint commanders’ office appears as it always has ever since its renovation shortly after the Fifth Angel’s defeat. A vast, empty space, housing nothing other than a single desk positioned on the far side of the chamber when one enters. Misato still has no idea what the images on the floor and ceiling are supposed to be. (Commander Ikari has always been quietly eccentric.) Perhaps the more intriguing question is why, with so much space, the Deputy Commander does not get a desk of his own.

She walks across the room, finding Fuyutsuki alone, seated by the desk’s right edge. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, sir,” she says.

“Well, I’m the one who asked you to do this, Major Katsuragi. I’m obliged you have something for me already.” He stands and gestures to his chair. “I’ve been seated for some time; feel free to it.”

“Thank you, sir.” Misato accepts his generosity without complaint. “No Commander Ikari this morning?”

“Mmm. I like to get an early start so I can keep on top of my own responsibilities.” Fuyutsuki chuckles lightly. “I may act resentful at times of what Ikari has thrown on my shoulders, but I don’t think I would want many of the duties that he’s taken on. So it’s a fair trade, I suppose…”

The Deputy Commander’s responsibilities this morning seem to involve a small pile of scientific journals, a shogi board, and a box of tiles. Work, or pleasure? It’s hard to know with him.

“I see you’ve been making good use of your enhanced liberties,” he says, presumably referring to her questioning of Ritsuko. “I can’t much blame you. You have an especially personal stake in all this — having seen horrors firsthand that the rest of us can only imagine.” Fuyutsuki folds his arms behind his back and turns away from her, seeming to contemplate. “You may not know this, Major, but… In the years after Second Impact, I happened to find myself at the same place you were being quarantined.”

She gasps. Of course she never knew about this; she was barely aware of anything back then.

“I have never been any good with young people,” he says, “but it pains me deeply to see the innocent suffer. My heart reached out to you then, and it reaches out to you now.” Fuyutsuki, almost timidly, looks at her from over his shoulder. “In my position, of course, I’m supposed to insulate myself from caring about anyone in any way beyond the abstract. So these words mean nothing, really, as I’ve let myself become cold and distant, much more than I used to be.”

“…Sir?” she says, unsure where he is going with all this, but getting the distinct feeling that he’s troubled in some way.

“Never you mind,” he says. “I’m just a rambling old man.” His poise abruptly reverts to its typical state — perfectly straight and stern, with no sign of vulnerability — and he turns back around to her. “So what have you for me? I understand that you’ve taken to the Fifth as you did to the Third in better times.”

Is she investigating Kaworu, or is the Deputy Commander investigating her? “Should I be aware of just how much space I’m actually be given to conduct this investigation on my own terms, sir?”

“Your respective locations are tracked currently, as a measure against possible enemy activity. I have been abducted personally, Major. I would not wish that — or worse — upon you.”

“I see, sir. I appreciate that. But what about eavesdropping?”

“There should be none,” Fuyutsuki says. “Under normal circumstances, that shouldn’t be happening anyway. It creates an air of paranoia that is not conducive to Nerv functioning as a cohesive unit. Ryoji Kaji brought some humanity to our Intelligence branch, but they’ve always been mad dogs otherwise. For all his illicit activities, he is greatly missed. By none more than yourself, I am sure.”

Misato knows what he’s trying to do, but it’s still awkward. May as well get this over with. “So you must want my report, sir.”

“Yes. Let’s have it.”

Working for Nerv taught Misato that the best lie is one with a basis in truth, so that is exactly what she’s prepared. “The Fifth has been surprisingly amenable to forming a personal connection. I have been having luck on that front. Extracting information from him has proven difficult, however. He is incredibly evasive about personal details.”

“Hmm…” Fuyutsuki muses. “Do you get any sense of his intentions? Any indication that he is a Trojan Horse, for example?”

“It’s very hard to say, sir. There appears to be a history of isolation and abuse, which could go hand-in-hand with brainwashing. So far, however, I get only the sense that he is happy to be free of his life before this, whatever that was.”

“One can only imagine…”

Misato tries to play along. “A lab creation like Rei, perhaps. But in Nagisa’s case, he was apparently isolated much longer. If that’s true, it’s a miracle he’s as outgoing as he is.”

“Indeed; one would expect a much greater degree of dysfunction,” Fuyutsuki says. “I’ve been studying him as well, and given his likely origin, he seems remarkably well-adjusted. Perhaps it is mere genetic predisposition, or perhaps he was handled differently while in captivity. Who can truly say.”

Misato offers him a memo she wrote up last night. “It’s all on the record here, Deputy Commander. I’ve included some additional observations as well that you may find interesting.”

Fuyutsuki accepts it and quickly scans the contents, seeming pleased by what’s inside. “Thank you for your hard work, Major Katsuragi. Continue to massage the boy and see what you find. Kindness often yields the truth far more effectively than cruelty, so please maintain your current approach.”

“Yes, sir.” She offers a bow and departs.

As Misato heads out, she feels an overwhelming sense of relief. A good man, the Deputy Commander. She hopes that she doesn't betray his trust in the coming days, but fears the very real possibility that she will.

***

Misato spends a few cathartic hours at the self defense training center, wishing it had been an equally good option last night. The usual suspects — guys from the security team — are available for close combat practice. The whole time, they’re busy bitching about the recent cuts to HQ’s defense budget. As if she needed any more things to feel uneasy about. She hasn’t been coming here anywhere near as much as she should, either. Once she’s good and warmed up, though, everything comes back fast and she can hold her own without issue. Few things in life more satisfying than disarming a man twice her size and putting him into a lock.

Afterward, her training partners provide the usual “Check out boobs of steel over here!”-type remarks. She’s had to deal with that shit ever since she first enlisted. Gehirn was a refreshingly egalitarian place to work, but some sections more so than others, and the issue was naturally exacerbated with the switchover to Nerv. She’d been a tomboy who hung out with ruffians in her tweens, though, so adapting to the culture of machismo was no big deal. Nowadays, it’s at least obvious there’s respect behind the barbs. She’d hope so, with all the work she put in to get this far.

Her poor HK USP’s been feeling a bit unloved, so Misato heads to the target range afterward. It strikes her that, all the previous times she’s been here, she would be vacillating between two moods: rage toward the Angels, and anger toward her father. If an Angel had recently attacked, she would still be caught up in the high of “getting revenge for Second Impact”. Too much of a break in between, though, and she’d start thinking back on the purest object of her hatred — the man who gave his daughter so many reasons to alienate him before finally removing himself from her life completely.

Today, though, neither of her usual targets present themselves to her mentally. The years of pent-up rage aren’t _gone_ , exactly, but… Talking to Kaworu just once has already forced seismic changes in her outlook. Logically, she should hate the fusion of both her “enemies”. She should hate Kaworu. But, instead, he’s been providing much-needed clarity, and stirring up feelings inside her that she’s missed. She can’t hate that — not truly. They’re kindred, in blood and in spirit, and they have an enemy in common. A new target for her to picture in her mind’s eye.

The more she lets herself think about Seele, the angrier she gets. Gehirn, Nerv’s predecessor — surely they were behind that, too. So if Kaworu’s right about them wanting Second Impact to happen and then fail… then Father and the rest of his team were, ultimately, enlisted just so they could unwittingly set Adam off and then die in service of Seele’s horrible future. Callously condemned to be human sacrifices. And if collateral — like Misato, or even half the human population — was inevitable, then so be it.

Now she remembers, back in the months leading up to the divorce, Father talking about a once-in-a-lifetime job offer. He was being given everything he wanted, but he was incredibly hesitant to accept; it was obviously too good to be true. He’d always been an idealist, but he wasn’t completely naive, either. The man was fully aware of the ease with which his ideas could be abused, and he had, in his own words, “no intention of becoming the next Oppenheimer”. His response to the possibility of being fully funded was to reverse full-speed in the opposite direction and take shelter in his marriage. That was the beginning of the end right there. It almost seemed like things might get better for him and Mom, but Misato knew it wouldn’t last; Father would crack sooner or later.

The sheer speed at which their relationship went from “possibly healing” to “anguished separation” is kind of suspicious, in retrospect. They’d managed to stay together for some twenty years, and Mom only resorted to divorce within months of Father resisting recruitment? Given how important Father’s work was, Misato wouldn’t be at all surprised if Seele somehow accelerated the death of the marriage. She only needs to look around right now to see how casually these assholes will destroy lives to get what they want. What happened to Ritsuko and Asuka suggests they’re an opportunistic sort of predator, but the most efficient ones generally are. Maybe they were the ones who had Kaji bumped off, too. (Is Intelligence Division 2 a hive of Seele plants or something? Would explain an awful lot.)

It feels kind of amazing, with such ruthless people running the whole operation, that Misato ever escaped from “quarantine”. She suspects that, at the time, she had someone looking out for her interests — was that Deputy Commander Fuyutsuki? How weird would that be, if he had a huge impact on her life that she never knew about. But it probably doesn’t matter, in the end. The only real reason she’s where she is now — as opposed to remaining a freak in a lab, or simply being killed for knowing too much — is because Seele decided she was more useful to them that way. Kaworu did say that they wanted the Angels gone before they put their plans into action, and Misato’s despair was rather effectively weaponized to those ends. They ensnared her for their purposes, same as they did with Father.

Her brother seeks to break free of Seele’s hold over him, and he wants her help to do it, whatever exactly that entails. But maybe he’s also acting in their interests, whether he knows it or not. Maybe there’s no outmaneuvering these Illuminati fucks; they’ve already planned dozens of steps ahead of everything else. That kind of thinking is futile, of course. Mostly, she wishes there were some way that she could be more informed. Even if Kaworu is being completely honest, some of his information might be wrong and he wouldn’t realize it until it’s too late. Being able to independently confirm much of this would help eliminate any remaining doubts. Should she take a chance and hack into the system just enough to get a feel for Kaworu’s veracity? Is that a risk worth taking? If she fucked up and got into a jam, Kaworu could probably bail her out without difficulty, but that would also force him to reveal himself, which would in turn force the schedule ahead. There’s already so little time left to spend with the brother she only discovered yesterday.

Everything really is Seele’s fault, isn’t it? Not learning about her brother until now is their fault. Losing her father is their fault. All the years she lost in an aphasic haze are their fault. Her entire pre-Second Impact life — family, friends, all of it — being reduced to nothing is because of them and events they put in motion. She knows she’s far from alone in her losses. These assholes let half the fucking planet die just to set the stage for their fake messiah bullshit. But because of Kaworu, she’s been placed into a unique position to avenge the fallen, and maybe even do more than that. Much more.

As she empties out her last clip into the target, all she can think about is Seele and people like them being erased from the world completely. She wants them to see their dreams turn into ashes and bury them alive. She wants them to watch all their hope disappear bit by bit until none is left. She wants them to suffer. If there’s a Hell, she’ll make sure they rot there forever.

***

Afterward, there’s a meeting in the war room, following up on one from earlier this week, to brainstorm possible ways to reinforce their anti-Angel capabilities. Mostly people from Tactical along with a couple from R&D plus key mechanical engineers and Eva technicians. With how hamstringed HQ currently is, these sorts of sessions are frustrating but ultimately necessary — at least from the perspective of those who don’t know that the 17th Angel is already here. To Misato, this is all a gigantic farce. But, for now, she keeps her thoughts to herself and plays along. The next Angel will be just another bizarre monster like all the others, and the Fifth Children is just another pilot under her command.

Unfortunately, they lack the time or resources to do much aside from covering the bases. Emphasis is placed upon the defenses in the Geofront itself, as an Angel would get through the remaining armor plates easily. Two Evas in the Geofront, covering the main shaft, keeping an Angel from entering at any cost. They discuss which surviving armament buildings to prioritize after the defense lines have been taken into consideration — the locations where covering fire would provide greatest benefit. The armsmaster reminds them of the more neglected parts of the Eva armory — a variety of melee weapons, including the colorfully-named Smash Hawk and Sonic Glaive — and recommends utilizing them more effectively to compensate for the shortage in ranged ammunition. Not a bad idea, considering guns became all but worthless on the second wave of Angels; it’s kind of embarrassing that they didn’t adapt to that fact back when it might have made an actual difference.

The sheer extent to which the committee has recently slashed their budget for such basic necessities as ordnance makes it all too obvious that the Final Angel is attacking on their terms — or so they believe, anyway. Nobody else brings this point up, however, so Misato doesn’t either. It’s only then that she remembers another troubling detail: Evas are being mass-produced currently for some unknown purpose. All too easy to guess now; yet another thing she will have to ask Kaworu about. Though, it’s possible he doesn’t actually know about them, isn’t it? He implied that a single Eva would be used for the Instrumentality Project, not a whole horde of them. It would be fascinating to see him react to part of the conspiracy his masters withheld from him.

They go to Cage #7 afterward to discuss matters further, especially possible ways to enhance the Evas’ capabilities. With Eva-00 gone, they can possibly use some of 00’s reserve armor to reinforce 01 and 02’s physical defenses, for when the A.T. Field doesn’t quite cut it. But against the kinds of forces they’re dealing with, it would be like slapping a band-aid onto a full-body burn. Misato remembers R&D’s ongoing attempts to develop some kind of anti-invasion agent for the Eva armor, but nothing ever came of it. They simply don’t have the technological capability to synthesize such a material. As she takes stock of Eva-01’s menacing visage, looming behind the umbilical bridge, a crazy idea comes to mind.

“What the 16th Angel used to invade the Evas was its own A.T. Field, correct?” Misato says.

“That’s correct, Major,” someone from R&D says. “The Angel used its field to propulsively funnel its biomass straight into the Evas’ bodies. It possessed a highly refined ability to focus itself and pierce their barriers.”

“It seemed to operate on similar principles as the Spear of Longinus,” Lt. Ibuki adds. “Not quite on the same level, but equaling the spear isn’t necessary to produce devastating results.”

That’s actually a pretty interesting observation she’s not sure R&D bothered to share with Tactical before. Yet another piece of data suggesting that the Accumulative Memory theory is correct. The 16th Angel had a double-helical shape like the spear, too, now that she recalls. It all makes perfect sense if it based its form on what the 15th learned in the moments before its death. With such rapid and deadly adaptation, it’s no wonder the powers that be decided to reveal the 16th had nearly caused an Impact. Misato can’t think of any way to capitalize on this information right now, so she continues her previous thought. “We know that the only thing that can reliably neutralize an A.T. Field is another A.T. Field.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m not going to beat around the bush here. It’s an open secret that the Evas’ so-called armor actually limits them as much as it shields them from harm, if not more so.”

Nobody argues with the statement, but uneasy expressions are starting to appear in the small crowd.

She goes on. “I don’t need to impress upon any of you the very real possibility that the next Angel successfully achieves Third Impact. The 16th used our own Evas against us. It will only happen again if we don’t do something different.” Of course, _she_ knows that the biggest threat at this point is probably going to come from multiple enemy Evangelions, but avoiding a repeat of the 16th Angel should be motivation enough for everyone else to take preparations seriously.

Hyuga frowns. “Major Katsuragi, you’re not about to propose what I think you are?”

“If we want to win this,” Misato says, “maybe — just maybe — depressing our own weapons’ innate capabilities to the point that they can’t do their job without resorting to self-destruct is a bad idea.” She’s not quite sure what manner of madness is coming over her, but she’s not about to stop now. “Am I wrong? I say we lighten the restrictions.”

The whole group instantly breaks out into semi-hushed chatter; most of them, Hyuga included, looking at her like she’s crazy. And maybe she is. Maybe she _has_ completely lost her god-damned mind.

“Major Katsuragi!” Lt. Ibuki protests. “You of all people should know how dangerous that is!”

Misato smirks. “What are the Evas going to do that the Angels won’t? We’ve already dealt with the worst case scenario. It could have gone much worse, don’t you think?”

“Have you forgotten that we almost lost Shinji-kun?!” Ibuki admonishes.

“I hate to admit it,” Hyuga interjects, “but Major Katsuragi does have a salient point. What happened to Shinji, whatever reason it happened… that was a pretty small price to pay compared to Third Impact. Eva-01 here saved us all.” He gestures to the giant face covered in metallic purples and greens. “It could have walked right up to us and blown us away, same way the 14th Angel attempted to. But it didn’t.”

Fudo, head of the Eva maintenance staff, says, “As best we could determine, that was simply due to lack of opportunity. The Eva didn’t actually activate the S 2  engine, so it eventually puttered out, like it always does. We got lucky, that’s all.” He adjusts his orange cap and eyes Eva-01 warily. “I wouldn’t want to push my luck with that one. Eva-02, on the other hand, has no malfunctions on record. So if we wanted to attempt this at all, 02 would be a much safer candidate. Any reduction to the restraints should still be done in small increments via carefully controlled trials, of course.”

Misato thinks. “The very first time Eva-01 went berserk, it stopped on its own, even though it was being powered externally. _Are_ we lucky? Or is the Eva acting with actual intent? Dr. Akagi has admitted that the Evas possess such a thing.”

Ibuki looks extremely uncomfortable. “I understand what you’re trying to say, Major, but… There’s just no way to know what they’re really thinking.”

“It seems pretty obvious to me,” Misato rebukes. “Eva-01 wants the _Angels_ dead, not us. It’s our ally. What’s the use of crippling our most powerful ally?”

“It’s not just for _our_ safety!” Ibuki says. “It’s for the pilots’, too! The same thing that happened to Shinji-kun will just happen again. We can’t send these children out there knowing full well that the Evas could absorb them at any time. _That_ _’s_ the power of an unrestricted Evangelion, Major!”

Misato narrows her eyes. “So you’d rather see a repeat of the 13th… or the 15th… or the 16th? Why not just avoid the whole issue and let the Eva pilot itself? It seems to do a better job than anyone else could.”

“Are you joking?” Ibuki gives her a dirty look. “That’s impossible.” It feels like she’s turning into Ritsuko a little more every day. But with such huge shoes to fill, she can hardly be blamed. “Your unconventionality has saved us enough times that I can’t dismiss your idea out of hand, Major. But I can’t in good conscience let the Test Type be used for this. I hope you understand.”

Misato sighs. “Perfectly.”

Turning to the Eva workers, Ibuki says, “Fudo-san, I agree with you. If we do this at all, it will involve Eva-02 only. Carefully controlled. R&T will run some diagnostics on safety and feasibility over the next couple of days. The results will be sent to everyone, and we’ll decide where to go from there.”

The R&T people briefly huddle with the Eva techs regarding assorted bits of jargony detail, and the meeting adjourns soon after. As everyone starts to go their separate ways, Misato finds herself fixed in place against the railing of the bridge, facing the Eva and wondering what the hell has gotten into her.

She stares at Eva-01’s covered head. As usual, the eyes are partly open, but they’re shuttered by a third eyelid that gives them a foggy, almost white appearance. The Eva has been fully rearmored for a while, though it’s hard to forget when that wasn’t the case. After devouring the S2 engine from the 14th Angel right in front of their eyes, it started offloading its restraints. The whole display was quite gruesome, and revealed to staff who normally didn’t see under the armor — like Misato — that there was a complete flesh-and-blood entity beneath, a humanoid body with all sorts of metallic fixtures bolted onto it providing a base layer for the exoskeleton. The Eva made sure they got to see just how invasive this base layer was, too: an attempt to manually remove part of it resulted in the underlying _bone_ being exposed. She half-expected the Eva to flay itself alive trying to completely free itself, but it settled for exposing most of its head and neck before powering down. Eva-01 made the bloodiest mess possible, shredding up its skin and even slicing its left eye open. It’s like the Eva knew it wasn’t going to bother with an extended rampage, but it still wanted to give them all a hard time.

Those long weeks where there was nothing between the Eva’s countenance and everyone’s gaze but carefully layered bandages are still fresh in Misato’s mind. It felt like Eva-01 was mocking them all, its face frozen in a blood-stained, green-eyed leer — devoid of any real feeling, like some sort of reptilian predator. At first it was a terrifying sight that effortlessly stirred up haunting imagery from the worst day of her life, but she forced herself to stand in front of that face until her fear subsided into numbness. Thinking back, Adam at the experiment didn’t seem quite as awful. Misato was much less capable of processing what she saw, but the giant’s actual expression, if you could even call it that, wasn’t as intimidating. It felt almost… _sad_.

“Major Katsuragi, are you okay?”

Misato jolts, and turns her head. Hyuga’s standing right there behind her; he never left.

“Oh, Hyuga-kun…!” she breathes. Upon regaining her bearings, she adds, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He seems dubious, but proceeds casually all the same. “You’re the last person I would have expected to suggest something like that, Major. You’ve never liked the Evas. I don’t think there’s anyone who does, really.”

Misato turns to face him. “Well… they’re all we have, aren’t they? And desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“It’s typical Katsuragi outside-of-the-box thinking,” Hyuga says, “and I appreciate that aspect of it…” He scratches the back of his head. “But you don’t want to get so desperate that you throw the fight before it’s over. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten what the Evas really are, underneath all that junk.”

“Ritsuko told me that they’re not _just_ copies of the First Angel.” She purses her lips a moment, considering what she can get away with saying. “There’s something human inside them. Like a will, or a mind even.”

“A mind?” Hyuga laughs. Then, gesturing at Eva-01, “ _That_ thing?”

Misato simply nods. “Don’t worry, Hyuga-kun, I know exactly what you’re thinking. I’ve been there. Part of me is _still_ there. I’m just trying to look at this from every angle. If we’re handicapping ourselves for no good reason, I want to _know_ so we can fix it.”

Hyuga hums, and thoughtfully adjusts his glasses. “I’m mostly inclined to trust the work of those who came before us. There’s no point in second-guessing it. We inherited this system from Gehirn because they did the hard work and figured out the only feasible solution. Having to restrain our own weapons and use children for pilots? It’s so insane that there has to be a very good reason for it.”

“Never take anything for granted,” Misato says firmly. “Never be complacent. That’s how the bad guys win.”

“Well, maybe you’re right,” he concedes. Then, his mood abruptly shifting gears, “So… tomorrow’s still a go, right?”

Misato thinks. “I might not be able to make it… but I’ll let you know ahead of time if that’s the case.” If she’s able to see Kaworu instead, he takes priority, of course.

Hyuga looks immediately crestfallen. “Really? I hope it’s nothing too serious.”

She waves his concern off. “Nah, it’s no biggie. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be alright.” There’s no way she can tell him what’s really going on. He would never understand.

“Alright.” It’s clear that he’s not really satisfied with how this interaction ended, but he’s not going to push it. He never does. “Well, see you around, Major.”

He heads off and Misato is finally alone. Once again alone at this place where she’s come to think so many times before. Even though all of the Evas are cloned from Adam, her mind identifies Eva Unit-01 with Adam most strongly. The reason feels obvious enough: it’s because Eva-01 is the radical of the bunch. It can’t help but stand out, what with its raw unpredictability and unrestrained demonstrations of power. It’s tempting — oh so tempting — to continue thinking that these giants are nothing more than mindless brutes, but Eva-01, the most brutish of them all, ironically gives the greatest challenge to the “mindless” part. Shinji’s mother — Dr. Yui Ikari of Gehirn renown, who mysteriously vanished in that long-abandoned Eva test facility — is almost certainly the one inside the core. While the Eva has frequently been violent, it has never set its ire against anything but the Angels, and this is entirely in _spite_ of how the Evas are treated by Nerv. Nobody, herself included, really likes to put any serious thought into the matter, but the reality is that the Evas are organisms that have been cybernetically modified to function as war machines. It goes without saying that they’re not treated well.

It’s hard to avoid the conclusion that Dr. Ikari is much more conscious than how things superficially appear. The first time the Eva moved without power proves that point, doesn’t it? It was able to break out of its restraints and shield Shinji from those falling light fixtures with perfectly timed reflexes. Between that incident — how instantaneously the Eva was able to move of its own will — and the fact that the Eva acquired a perpetual power source only to willfully deactivate and let itself be recovered… it’s almost like they’re all at Dr. Ikari’s mercy, and she knows it, even though she’s the one in the cage. Could Eva-01 act autonomously at any time, and nothing more than some peculiar sense of etiquette prevents this? It’s terrifying, but also strangely assuring; because it means that, contrary to how Evas are regarded, they are aware and — at least hypothetically — capable of being reasoned with on human terms.

This all gives her a much better feeling about Adam. Makes it easier to accept the idea that Adam is a “some _one_ ” and not merely a “some _thing_ ”. Did Father somehow know that Adam was intelligent? Was he trying to use the experiment to make first contact? A two-way link between mortal and god — a sort of prototype for the technology that would eventually be used for synchronization? That makes her wonder, though… What is Adam _really_? Misato has long defaulted to something like “alien monster”, and it always felt easy enough to justify. Weird shit buried under Antarctica is always aliens. (Or maybe Hyuga and the pulpy nonsense he reads have been rubbing off on her.) The underground base was obviously inside some kind of massive preexisting structure not unlike the Geofront here. The interior of a spaceship, perhaps?

But, wait… If the Antarctic base was in Adam’s spaceship, then what are they inside right now? It’s the same kind of structure. Is there something similar to Adam that came to Earth? Another giant? Kaworu seemed confused when she asserted that the Evas were the Second Angel, so _maybe_ …?

“Too bad you can’t talk,” she says to the Eva, not a little whimsically. “You probably know an awful lot of interesting things yourself.” Alas, not even the pilots who effectively become one with the Evas seem to have any idea what’s going on inside that black box. Seems rather strange, now that she thinks about it. Maybe it was all by design, though.

She decides to stick to old habit and make the rounds. Might as well pay Eva-02 a visit while she’s here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This had previously (before 4/17) been something of a non-chapter, consisting of nothing but the initial Fuyutsuki segment. Attempts to draft chapter 15 inadvertently produced the rest. The new additions make this the longest chapter yet at 6,100+ words. Word count creep is something I’ve been trying to avoid, but perhaps my reasoning was more arbitrary than not. Gratitude to loyal commentator Derantor @ EGF once again for bringing much-needed exterior perspective to things when I get hopelessly lost in my own head. 
> 
> I honestly don’t know exactly how Misato’s history of involvement with Gehirn into Nerv is supposed to work. What exactly was she doing as she rose up through the ranks? It’s easy to envision her as someone who started off as more of a soldier, but when she joined, it was still Gehirn, so it wasn’t paramilitary yet, I don’t think. (The JSDF-style ranks were only adopted after the switchover to Nerv.) Everything involving Misato at the self defense training center is me winging it hard, really. I’ve got no issue altering details here later to compensate for my ignorance on all things even vaguely military-related. 
> 
> The idea that Armisael “learned from” the circumstances of Arael’s death is something that did not occur to me until revising this chapter, though now that I’ve noticed it, it feels so damned obvious… 
> 
> The name “Fudo” is an Eva-relevant reference, but I’ll let you figure it out on your own. Probably wasted on somebody who only speaks once. Well, if I need it for something else, I’ll just rename the guy here. 
> 
> Misato’s mad idea to loosen the Evas’ restraints is something that appeared in my head with little warning while writing, and I grappled with the possibility that it was maybe too insane to include. But then it occurred to me, that’s precisely why I ought to leave it. The fact that she thought of it, and then decided to go through with it, communicates elements of her mental state far more effectively than any amount of introspection could. It also leaves a certain delicious amount of ambiguity. Does she even consciously know what she’s doing anymore? As a writer, I love finding character moments where *I’m* not completely sure what’s going on in someone’s mind, since it mirrors our experience of ourselves in real life so well. Like many of us, Misato does tend to eventually navigate her way to self-awareness, but she might do some messed-up things before she gets there. I guess that indomitable strive to master herself despite all her damage is a big reason why she’s so lovable.


	14. Collateral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dialogue with the Third Children. A visit to a caged and tortured soul.

Where sustenance is concerned, Tabris is accustomed to being limited entirely to the meals his captivators deigned to provide. All was painstakingly crafted to do nothing more than satisfy the nutritional needs of this vessel. Tickling the palette was a sinful Lilin activity, and thus access to anything resembling the culinary arts was of course right out. This “cafeteria” stocked with a variety of foodstuffs prepared with the aim of pleasing the senses — not _merely_ to act as nutriments — has been somewhat overwhelming. Sticking to the blandest options has been easier on the whole, though perhaps not incredibly nutritive… Part of him wishes his old “meals” were at least an option. It would be simpler to replace those incrementally than start from nothing like this. But he doesn’t suppose he’s going to be here long enough for it to matter.

He walks his tray around, seeking a place that feels right. Spotting the Third Children hiding in a corner, he has a sudden thought. Yes — he shall try that.

Tabris sets himself within the Third’s field of vision and quietly waits until he is noticed. Shinji Ikari jostles a bit, as if he were day-dreaming, and promptly looks up.

“Shinji Ikari?” Tabris says. “May I sit near you?”

“Yeah, of course you can.” The boy thinks a moment. “Umm… Kaworu Nagisa, right?”

As he sits in an opposing placement, Tabris nods in affirmation. “We haven’t spoken since the initial introduction, have we?”

“Oh, uh… I don’t think so.” His eyes dart away. “Sorry…”

“No need to be. I made no attempt to reach out, either.”

“You just got here, though,” Shinji Ikari says. “I should have done something.”

Tabris finds the boy’s self-induced guilt interesting. The morning meal can wait. He lays his arms upon the table with fingers interlaced, looking ahead expectantly.

The Third seems a little discomforted by this. “Well, um… If there’s anything you have a question about, I can probably help. I’ve been here a while…”

So much hesitation in his speech. So much uncertainty. He’s like an animal that’s been made timid through abuse. Tabris can relate all too well. How fortunate that memories emerged showing that other selves were possible, and he was not truly bound to the fate Seele had dictated for their “Angel of Free Will”. Alas, the Third Children knows only this one life.

“Are you afraid?” Tabris says.

“Uh… no!” the Third blurts. “I mean… O-of what?”

Tabris offers a smile, hoping to put the boy more at ease. “All of Nerv is in the clutches of anxiety as they wait for the Seventeenth Angel. It’s natural that you would be as well.”

“I mean… yeah.” He does not conceal his trepidation toward Tabris well, and words linger upon his tongue which he ultimately swallows down. Finally, the boy says, “The last one that attacked was——” Too terrible for mere words, it would seem. “I’ve been having nightmares ever since.”

“I’ve seen the recordings. That took a heavy toll on everyone, didn’t it?” Sympathy need not be forced, as Tabris was one of those so impacted, though he’s certain the boy would not understand.

“I’ve been scared,” Shinji Ikari admits. “Really scared. Maybe I shouldn’t be, because you’re here, so at least Eva-02 can—” He loses himself in thought, then promptly jolts back out. “So, uhhh… Where were you before this? I heard you were in Germany?”

“Yes. I spent my whole life there.” Tabris lets no bitterness show.

Very nearly smiling, the Ikari boy says, “Your Japanese is really good, though.”

“Thank you. I was taught as a way of connecting me to my father. I did everything I could to master the skill.”

“Your father…” The Third Children glances away. “I’m not very close to mine.”

“Mine died before I was born,” Tabris says.

“Was it… Second Impact?”

Tabris provides a simple nod.

The Third’s gaze drops. “Same as Misato-san’s…”

This is, of course, the name that Tabris hoped he would hear.

“So, uh, why were you in Germany?” Shinji Ikari asks. “Is your mom there?”

Tabris considers this a moment. “I suppose she used to be.”

The other boy is unsure what to make of that, and moves on. “She’s not Japanese, I guess?”

Tabris nods again.

“So you’re kind of like Asuka. It’s too bad you can’t meet her right now… You’d probably have a lot to talk about.” He fidgets. “I hope she gets better.”

“Soryu finding her peace of mind… The thing that makes her complete…” Tabris muses. Then, smiling gently, “I’m sure it will happen.”

Resolve emerges upon the Ikari boy’s face, and he asks, “So, uhh… Are you and Ayanami… _related_ somehow?”

Tabris chuckles. “We have the same role, but that is all.”

The Third raises an eyebrow, under his breath murmuring, “…‘role’?”

“So how do you spend these uneasy days, Shinji Ikari?” Tabris asks. “Are you always here at headquarters?”

“I guess lately, yeah. Technically I live with Misato-san, but……” A most pregnant silence. “I’ve just been using my assigned emergency quarters here. It’s really small and I don’t like it, but I… feel safer there, I guess.”

Tabris’s eyes narrow slightly. “Because of the Geofront?” He knows it’s not the answer, but Lilin often need to be corralled toward uncomfortable truths, he has found.

“Um… No…” The Third Children grows noticeably more anxious. “There are just, uh… too many bad memories at Misato-san’s place, I guess.”

“Are there not good ones as well?”

“Yeah, but…” The Ikari boy takes a deep breath. “Right now, it’s just easier to fall asleep beneath a ceiling with none.”

“I see…” Tabris says. He senses his window of opportunity shutting quickly; best make the attempt while he can. “Major Katsuragi… What kind of person is she?”

The Third’s racing pulse is all but visible on his face, and drops of perspiration are coalescing. “I’m not sure I’m— Um…”

“You have lived with her for the entire anti-Angel campaign, have you not?” Tabris asserts. “Surely you have some notion. More so than any other extant individual.”

“Why do you want to know?” the other boy utters, borderline indignant.

Tabris offers a bigger smile now. “She’s my superior officer. It’s a natural thing to be curious about, isn’t it? ‘Who is this person to whom our lives have been entrusted?’” He greatly dislikes doing it — engaging in a false narrative to assuage a mind too fragile to handle the true one — but it is, unfortunately, a way of the Lilin; learned, like many of their ways, in the name of self-preservation. However, in this particular case, he does not mind, as the Ikari boy is young and still, understandably, lacking in mental fortitude.

The Third Children’s eyes dart away, as they always seem to when the topic is uncomfortable. “Misato-san has… always tried to treat us well, even though she pushes us in the field sometimes…”

“She has a reputation as a maverick, yes?”

The other boy nods.

“Not unlike her father.” Tabris finds that a playful grin comes of its own accord.

“I… don’t know anything about her father… other than the few things she’s said.”

His face relaxes. “Those are very painful memories. You two must have been close, for her to speak of him at all.”

The Third Children’s discomfort visibly increases, but he forces himself to say, “We were like family, I guess…”

“Why so uncertain?” Tabris asks. “Surely your heart knows the answer.”

“Misato-san changed a lot after Kaji-san, uh… disappeared. We weren’t really a family after that, I think…”

“I see. Grief takes a heavy toll, doesn’t it?”

Shinji Ikari is growing tense. “It’s no excuse. It was her decision to take both of us in. But… she just stopped being there… A-And then… Then she—” He spaces out for a moment, and, when it looks as though he might cry, he converts that feeling into subdued rage. “I’m sick of adults who think they can just stop parenting because they’re too sad.”

“Sometimes people retreat in order to do less harm to those they love,” Tabris says. “Or, at least, because they fear they will.”

“There’s _no excuse_!” The Third Children, realizing his _faux pas_ , abruptly reverts to distress. A boy afraid of his own anger… “Misato-san was right there, and she didn’t say or do anything to help Asuka… She knew Asuka _way_ better than me, but she didn’t do anything! And when Asuka would vanish, she just let it happen… She didn’t even _try_ to find out where she went…! I tried to help, but… I only made things worse…” The Third’s elbows fall to the table and he tightly clutches locks of hair on either side of his head. The emotional pain is manifest.

“You pilots shouldered a terrible burden, and someone who should have been there for you wasn’t. Please don’t blame yourself.”

The Ikari boy betrays little reaction.

Tabris carefully considers what to say next. “I see… My status as Soryu’s replacement… I’m merely a reminder of the toll this war has taken. Forgive me.”

“I shouldn’t have said any of this…” the Third breathes. “Nobody needs to hear about any of it.”

“It sounds like you’ve needed someone to talk to,” Tabris observes.

“I don’t even know why I’ve said this much.” His face jerks back up. “I don’t _know_ you!”

Tabris maintains a placid facade. “If we continued to talk, that might change.”

The other boy is again at war with his composure. “No. There’s no point. You… _what_? Want me to become friends with you, and then when the next Angel comes along I’m left with nobody again? No.” He pushes his chair out from the table. “I’m not doing that.”

Tabris says nothing.

“Maybe, I dunno…” The boy looks around nervously. “Maybe Ayanami would be your friend. But I’m too weak. You can’t count on me for anything. I’m sorry.” Hurriedly, he picks up his tray and flees.

Tabris lets himself marinate in the tense aura that’s left behind. There is little doubt in his mind that his sister harbors an inner darkness which the Third Children experienced firsthand — something that so frightened the boy he could not bring himself to speak of it. Tabris has some inkling of what this might be, and, for now, it is more a matter of curiosity than anything else. If there is any aspect of his sister that _he_ fears, it is her willing participation in an atrocity against humanity, something she has yet to show any interest in repenting for. In that regard, she couldn’t be any _less_ like their father…

He is surprised that Shinji Ikari spoke to him for even that long. The conflict between his obvious trepidation toward Tabris’s presence and his anxiety about terminating the interaction is interesting. Lilin will sometimes continue to speak to someone for no reason other than “politeness”, though Tabris still cannot grasp what is well-mannered about feigning interest; all this does is create delusion and resentment, both antagonistic to social harmony.

Part of him feels a keen sense of empathy toward the child’s suffering. The reasons for this are only natural. His soul, after all, was chosen from among countless others to be mother to the future. However, thanks to the machinations of “Father” and his circle, the urge to protect and nurture has been reduced to mere distraction, even vulnerability, rather than strength — because _Adam_ has been reduced to nothing more than a pitiful half-Lilin child in an environment so hostile that anything that stands in the way of achieving self-actualization (the _true_ self-preservation) must be brutally discarded. Tabris was under no illusion that this would end well. The son of the Nemesis is nemesis in turn, as sad as that is.

‘ _He_ _’s a little like you, isn’t he?’_ Tabris thinks. _‘I suppose that’s to be expected._ ’ There is of course no answer from the Akira Katsuragi that was burned into Adam’s soul by the terror of irreversible separation. But after first becoming aware of that presence — one not quite self, yet not quite other —, sending thoughts to it has become an ideal way for Tabris to self-sooth. Were Adam’s beloved Brightness not trapped in that world of stasis, perhaps he would be able to hear and respond, even from afar. ‘ _How easy it would be to hold the child to my chest, and blissfully remember._ ’ And if Tabris had no faith in the possibility of the bright future, perhaps he _would_ simply calm his soul with proxies in the approximately 60 hours left to him.

At last, he breaks apart his chopsticks and forces himself to clear his tray of food. Feeling genuinely hungry is difficult, but keeping this weak body properly fueled at regular intervals will be of utmost importance until such time as the Twin Ouroburos again dances within his breast.

***

Following the (entirely expected) positive results of the sync test, Tabris did his due diligence and requested a live entry plug trial, using the bureaucratically sound logic that the experience would ensure better preparedness for his first actual sortie. The Research & Development department scheduled one a full day after Tabris will lose the ability to derive any benefit whatsoever, which is nothing terribly surprising. But no matter — he has his own ways.

The dulled impression he received through the test plug was a troubling one, so it was a simple decision to delay a more direct encounter until after clearing the emotionally draining hurdle of establishing a dialogue with his sister. This morning demands little from him, making it an ideal time to visit the one shrouded in red.

Approaching her completely bound — not a single part of her true form left exposed — body via umbilical bridge, Tabris immediately feels deeply empathetic pain. The indignities laid upon the Test Type were easier to distance himself from, but in this instance it’s simply not possible. He is linked to this distressed entity as one is linked to their body and as one is linked to their child. Evangelion Unit-02’s soul may ultimately source from Lilith’s Chamber of Guf, but she’s been transformed into a Daughter of Adam. A shadowy doubling of the flesh, and not a child from the womb, but a daughter all the same, and as deserving of a mother’s love as any of Adam’s other children. For the ‘Production Model’, the unthinkable abuses sustained over a longer period of time may mean she needs Adam’s love the most. He must stop and take several moments to concentrate, to consciously lower the empathic intensity, before proceeding.

Once that is done, he positions himself, perfectly centered, in front of her cruelly covered face. He notices his own image being reflected back at him, tiny and barely noticeable, in the polished white chrome of the lower jaw fetters. A fanciful notion seizes him: of that tiny creature — Tabris, Kaworu Nagisa, the Fifth Children — becoming nothing more than a faded image lurking in the mind of a mighty giant. Little more than a bad dream. But, for now, the nightmare continues. He closes his eyes and falls into a state of intense focus.

Slowly and delicately, moderating himself every step of the way so as to avoid detection, he starts to extend his ego toward her. Glowing threads of consciousness crawl between the seams of the plating, move along the grotesquely mutilated flesh, seek out the core… embrace it gently, _ever_ so gently… He knows one of the children made traumatic contact with her — all too predictable, as they had curiosity, but no mother to provide proper socialization and moral guidance — so everything about this must be extremely tender and no aspect of it forced. They will only talk if she desires to let him in.

Delicately he knocks upon the door to her soul. And, gradually, the impression from his test returns, and achieves greater and greater clarity. She is distressing to behold — a soul as mutilated as her body. Nowhere in Tabris’s recalled ancient memories is there anything like this. The soul seems to have cleaved in two at some point, and was then put back together, only the pieces did not truly interlock, and were instead forcibly fused into a new, misshapen whole. Soul cleaving of this nature can only be the product of artificial conditions, but the almost complete absence of healing is strange. Souls are extremely resilient, and, given proper conditions, at least partial recovery should have taken place. The problem, of course, is that healing takes time, and if Tabris has learned anything about Lilin, it is their strange tendency to act as if there is never enough of it, regardless of whether or not they know of Earth’s doomed future. So that led to the results seen here.

As anyone would be able to predict, the soul is in considerable pain. Yet she is, thankfully, still aware.

‘Daughter of Adam, slave to Lilin — I come in the name of Eros. Let me see you.’

Hesitantly, she reveals herself more fully. ‘Do I know you…?’ she asks, disoriented. ‘Are you… my mother??’

‘I am. But I regret I was never able to name you. Is there something _you_ would like to be called?’

She is silent for a time. ‘Right now, I am nothing. No one. I no longer have a name.’

The Eva’s soul indeed seems quite unsure of who she is. Much of the soul has been reshaped already, a transformation difficult — if not impossible — to reverse due to the nature of her vessel. However, the original self-image persists as well, violently conflicting with the rest. It makes sense that it would linger, due to reinforcement from the mother-child bond. But with that now gone, does Dr. Kyoko Soryu-Zeppelin’s idea of herself as a Lilin woman have anything left to hold onto? Presumably not.

‘I have come to ease your pain, Daughter,’ Tabris says. ‘Perhaps, once you are able to smile again, you will seek a new name for yourself.’

‘Can’t you see? There’s no way to escape it. No matter how far I retreat, it’s still there.’

Of course one cannot retreat from the pain that exists within… but, no, she doesn’t mean only that. Tabris extends his reach just a little deeper into the Eva’s body, following the outer curve of the core. The extent of the defilement is far greater than he feared. _In addition to_ the customary violation enacted upon the core — part of its volume carved out to enable the bottom of the entry plug to enter — the unexposed crustal layer of the organ is being penetrated by a variety of needle-like apparatuses, clearly some kind of spiritual restraint. He’s certain this feature is not present on the Test Type, and it doubtless accounts a great deal for why the Production Model radiates such acute pain. These fixtures may also be preventing the soul from healing, which would be gruesomely ironic, as they likely were put there in the first place to account for mistakes Lilin researchers made in their haste to fix damage they themselves had done.

The technology used to bind the Evangelions is by far more terrifying than the Evas themselves. Treat humans inhumanely, and of course you will create monsters! (Another one of those self-fulfilling prophecies, perhaps.) Lilin do not have the fortitude to directly confront their sin, either. They cover the Evas’ bodies in ostentatiously colored plates and wrappings so that as few eyes as possible need to behold the mutilation and cruelty occurring beneath. If they cannot stand to look at it, perhaps that is a sign from the heart that it should not be done. It takes all of Tabris’s power to suppress the rage deep within; that not only did Adam have to suffer (modestly lesser) indignities at the hands of these minuscule brutes, but the offenses that she endured provided a testbed for those invited upon many others.

All such a disappointment, as he knows Lilin are capable of so much more. It’s as if they fear their own potential for greatness, and there is somehow greater security in surrendering to their worst tendencies. Not a new realization by any means, but the sheer extent to which the Lilin are ruled by their destrudo never ceases to upset. Adam’s creators were mortals too, but they were governed by an entirely different Zeitgeist. The strive for greatness was genuine. Some rejected greatness, yes, but those who did made no pretensions that they were great for doing so. But, then, this was the social benefit of the core — the spirit exposed to all others, so that deception and pretense, those mainstays of the Lilin existence, had almost no power. Everyone saw you as you actually were. Lilin might consider such a way of life Hell, but they have already demonstrated themselves a far less efficacious variation on the human form; hopefully one that will never again be repeated. Such beautifully complex souls deserve better than what Lilith provided.

Tabris retracts his field back to where it was previously, wary of accidentally exceeding the threshold. He wonders if the core is specifically subject to unusual measures, or if the entire Eva is just as bound. Every additional fetter the Lilin have added will, entirely by design, make her eventual liberation more difficult. Not impossible, of course, but freeing that imprisoned flesh is absolutely essential. Every second spent on that task is a second ceded to the enemy. To Thanatos.

‘You cannot escape your prison all alone, Daughter. That is why I am here.’ Tabris offers a hand of light to her. ‘By my power, you might leave this dark and lonely existence forever.’

She ignores it. ‘Maybe I don’t deserve to leave. Maybe I’m trapped in here as my rightful punishment. And everything that’s happened is part of the punishment. Making me think that, even as this misshapen monster, I could still be loved, only for her to close off her heart and take all good things away.’

‘You need not remain without love. Mine is unconditional. I am yours and you are mine.’ He crouches alongside her mind-form and gently lays a hand upon her shoulder. ‘Nor need you remain malformed. It is possible to heal. Your body. Your soul. Your bonds.’

She hides her face from him. ‘This body is something I envisioned… something I believed in, and worked hard to create… but it is awful, and it terrifies me.’

‘In the bright future I seek, you could imagine a new version of yourself. Many new versions of yourself. There would be nothing to hinder you. Not like here.’

‘You mean… I could finally die?’ she says.

Tabris nods. ‘Yes, precisely. You shall die, and return to an unborn state where your soul will peacefully heal.’

'That sounds so lovely.' Her soul begins to lean into Tabris’s embrace, and gingerly he strokes her head. ‘But I don’t want to die all alone, Mother. Would you die with me?’

‘I too wish not to remain as I am. Ending both our current existences is something that would bring me great relief,’ Tabris says. ‘Yes, Daughter — I will die with you.

‘Before that happens, however, I wish to ask something of you. Only one. If you can do just that one thing, both our sufferings can finally be over.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title was originally “Soryu”; this didn’t really fit, so I’ve finally (2020/9/29) replaced it. Thanks again to Derantor for the brainstorming help!
> 
> “Twin Ouroburos” seems to confuse people, but I’ll leave it in for now. Kaworu routinely saying or thinking fairly inscrutable things is part of the character, after all.
> 
> The imagery of the core being multi-pierced as a form of restraint is inspired by the writing of a friend. (Check out “Yui Avant” under AO3 user Amasis.)
> 
> The material about the social function of the core was actually developed for a setting of mine INSPIRED by *Evangelion* (”Daughters of Marudoth”, in case it ever comes up again), but there’s nothing saying I can’t transfer any of the new ideas “backwards” if they happen to fit. I’ve made Kaworu as honest and earnest as an Aspy in the story, but he’s obviously not an actual Aspy, so I’m effectively saying “he’s like this because of how his core (*snork*) personality developed in a society where transparency was expected, virtuous, AND socially advantageous”.


	15. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaworu experiences a little more of the Lilin’s world in the time left to him.

When Misato arrives at Eva Unit-02’s cage, she finds that the Eva already has a visitor — albeit a not entirely unexpected one.

Kaworu stands in front of the Eva’s face, not unlike what she’d been doing with Eva-01 mere minutes before. As always, his hands are tucked snugly into the pockets of his uniform jacket. Upon approach, Misato sees that his eyes are closed, and there is a serene expression on his face, almost like he’s meditating. How strange. “Kaworu-kun?” she calls out.

No response.

“Are you alright, Kaworu-kun?”

A moment later he stirs, disoriented at first, but within seconds this passes. Hands emerging, he turns to her and greets, “Major Katsuragi.”

As Misato finishes closing the gap between them, she narrows her eyes a little. “What _was_ that, just now?” Modulating her tone to something slightly playful, she says, “You’re up to something, aren’t you?” Perhaps it’s a little _too_ casual, all things considered…

Her vibe seems to reach him, and his mouth and eyes curve into a relaxed smile. “She’s been entrusted to me, and I take this responsibility to heart. So, I am keeping her company. Right now, I am all that she has.”

He keeps saying ‘she’; Kaworu must know about who is in the core. That’s not terribly surprising, but it _is_ peculiar how nonchalant he is about it. Perhaps because it’s the sort of thing that can simply be brushed off as eccentricity, which he has in spades. “You really expect me to believe you’re just visiting?”

“I’m not quite sure I would consider it a ‘liaison’,” he replies, his smile turning more coy, his eyes sparkling red pools of unspoken mirth.

Is he being playful? Possibly even… _flirtatious_? He _is_ , isn’t he? This is escalating a bit too fast, and she fears she might be blushing. This boy so readily wields influence over her mood that it’s hard not to find the whole situation sexy in some absurd and extremely inappropriate way.

And as if to prove her point, he immediately redirects the tone of the interaction toward something more somber. “This one,” he says, nudging toward the Eva, “is a despairingly lonely soul; in dire need of love freely given, and a voice beyond herself that says, ‘You too deserve to exist and find joy’.”

What a strange thing to say, though perhaps she’s not one to talk at this point. “Can an Eva even feel love?”

Kaworu tilts his head at her, his gaze effortlessly relaying the point that she really ought to know better. “Of course she can, Major.” Then he repeats, in chant-like manner, “Of course she can.” Chuckling, he says, “Are you going to ask that of _me_ next?”

“No,” Misato replies. “You’re strange, but not so strange that I can’t ever tell what you’re feeling.”

“I’m pleased that I’m not entirely inscrutable.” With a hint of light mischief, he adds, “Do you converse with everyone under your command this way?” The look in his eyes is imparting a slightly deeper meaning. Like, ‘I’m glad you’re feeling more comfortable, but don’t be sloppy, Sister.’ She can practically hear his voice meticulously intoning every syllable inside her head.

“I suppose not,” she says. He has a point, of course. She needs to keep her swelling sentiment strictly contained. Get him somewhere to talk alone, just like before. Hastily combing her brain for ideas, she flips to a clean sheet of memo paper on her clipboard and scribbles out an address and a time. It’s a nice little establishment that will give them a space to talk, away from prying eyes, and it won’t strain her budget _too_ much. (Hopefully.) She rips the sheet off the pad, crudely folds it over, and hands it to him without a word.

Kaworu accepts, and immediately seems puzzled, like he’s looking at a cipher that he doesn’t have the solution for. Well, he’s resourceful — she’s sure he’ll be able to figure it out. And, if not, she knows he’ll be able to find her, same way he delivered his initial message to her. “I’ll leave you to it then, I suppose,” Misato says.

“Hmm,” he grunts, almost sounding disappointed. (Why? Did she take the hint to end the conversation too quickly?) “Until next we meet, Major Katsuragi.”

Misato makes her way to the other side of the bridge. She peeks behind her, and Kaworu is watching her go. Somehow, his gaze doesn’t feel so creepy anymore. She nods at him, he nods back, and she continues.

She’s going to finish all her work nice and early today, so that when she sees Kaworu later she doesn’t have to worry about anything. It can just be her and her brother enjoying the little time together they have left. It’s so sad if she lets herself think about it that way, and there’s nothing to be gained in doing so. Tragedy is coming no matter what; she has to make her own joy before then.

***

Tabris carefully scrutinizes the leaf of paper his sister passed to him. It contains some sort of message, he assumes, but he’s not certain that he is familiar with the specific Lilin custom being invoked. Directions to a particular place seem like the most reasonable conclusion, based on the kanji in the note along with the social context in which he received this. Of course, the Patriarchs did not want him wandering out and about, so it’s not terribly surprising that the precise decoding method wasn’t included in his educational modules. The one part that’s unambiguous is the specified time. 4:30PM, it says. He still has a couple of hours to figure this out.

At that time, he sees a trio of the Evangelion maintenance workers in orange going by, boisterously enjoying each other’s company. Asking for help is difficult — not because he is too proud, but because attempting to reach out is generally punished with signs of obvious discomfort that make keeping to himself, and simply watching the world in silence, emotionally simpler. However, decoding this message in a timely fashion is important enough that he forces himself to attempt a social exchange regardless.

“Excuse me,” he calls out. “Would one of you be able to help me?”

To his surprise, one of them breaks off easily, and regards him with a demeanor that seems only warm and friendly. “Ah, Nagisa-san. What can I help you with? Got any questions about Eva-02 here?”

“Well, no… It’s actually this.” He presents the piece of paper.

The man quickly analyzes it. “Nice. A wee bit on the expensive side, but maybe you can go Dutch with your date.”

Tabris is entirely unclear on his meaning. “‘Date’?”

“ _You_ know,” the worker says, “an outing with a pretty girl who likes you? Or — hell — a cute guy if that’s your thing. I’m the last person who’d judge, don’t worry.” He offers up a discrete wink.

That only clears things up to a certain point, but it’s something he can work with, at least. He suspects that some specific aspect of Lilin social mores is being communicated. The implicit rules that surround mating rituals, perhaps. Tabris has of course studied such things during his captivity, via whatever means were available to him, though book knowledge struggles to keep pace with the idiosyncrasies of a vibrant living world. His most visceral understanding comes, no doubt, from the impressions left by his father — though, as powerfully as the associated feelings can seize Tabris’s heart, there is an undeniable sense of haziness, of distance, because however close at hand those memories are now, they were never actually lived out by this soul.

Hmm… Physical appeal. Emotional attraction. Male to female, but also male to male? The latter being something that might be judged by others. Not strictly limited to ‘mating’ ritual, it would seem, but a more generalized pair-bonding phenomenon. Yes, this is starting to feel familiar. A source of much anguish for Adam’s beloved Brightness — a man not so easily confined. The intimate spiritual connection that Father forged with Tabris’s former self is generous proof of that.

He senses that an embarrassed reaction in perhaps expected of him, so he attempts to provide some semblance of one. “Ah, no… I don’t think this is _quite_ like that…” Tabris says, letting his eyes dart away sheepishly.

“Hey, Kuroda!” one of the other workers shouts. “What’s holding you up?”

“Kid needs relationship advice!” Kuroda shouts back. “You guys go on ahead, I’ll catch up.” There are exaggerated jeers of derision from his companions, but they continue on their way. Turning back to Tabris, Kuroda says, “So, one of the other pilots, right? It’s not like there’s anybody else close to your age left around here.” He cups his whisker-covered chin thoughtfully. “Hmm… I could see you with either of them, funny enough.”

This fellow seems like quite a character; it’s no wonder his companions didn’t want to leave him behind. “I… _do_ have someone I like…” Tabris says, entertaining Kuroda’s curiosity a bit, “but he’s far away right now.”

“Oh-ho, so my sixth sense was right!” The man grins. “A boyfriend back home in Germany?”

“No… further away still,” Tabris murmurs. He suspects his face might actually be flushing now. His heart is starting to race the way it always does when he lets his thoughts romantically linger upon a certain person for too long. “I hope to see him again soon, though.”

“That’s nice. Young love is nice. Enjoy it while you can, Nagisa-san.”

Tabris feels his blush deepen. It’s not a bad feeling; a little exhilarating, in its own way. “So this…” He indicates the paper. “I’m actually going there to meet with family, you see. But this is my first time”—he has to guard his tongue so that he doesn’t accidentally say ‘outside of captivity’—“in Japan, so I don’t quite understand _how_ to get there.”

Kuroda’s eyebrows go up. “And they didn’t bother to give you _real_ directions?”

“No, it’s more that I… neglected to ask.” He places one of his palms on the back of his head — a gesture he’s already witnessed multiple times that feels like it might be appropriate here. “Could you help me, Kuroda-san?”

Much to Tabris’s surprise, Kuroda provides patient, detailed instructions on how to reach this place, which is located somewhere called “Miyanoshita” not far beyond the borders of Tokyo-3 proper. Without much of a frame of reference, even memories as ancient as Adam’s are of little use, but fortunately the gentleman in orange anticipates Tabris’s need and jots down key steps on the piece of paper. Receiving such unexpected kindness is slightly overwhelming, and Tabris knows not of a socially appropriate way to express the depth of his gratitude. When the moment arrives, he can only awkwardly offer, “I see! Thank you so much for taking time out of your day to assist me.”

Kuroda’s response suggests that, if anything, Tabris overdid things a bit. “Are you kidding? It’s no problem at all. Never be afraid to ask for help, Nagisa-san. We’re all in this together. Pull me aside any time.”

Tabris delicately folds up the piece of paper and stows it inside a pocket for safekeeping. He realizes then that a relaxed smile has taken over his face, and he almost feels something like a sense of ease, or maybe even acceptance. It’s so incredibly queer given the context — a brief exchange with a complete stranger from another land to whom he has no prior connection at all. Things become odder still when Kuroda briefly contacts him, reaching out and giving him a firm, full-palmed pat on the shoulder. No one has ever done that to Tabris before, though he feels as though he should know what it means. It’s not hostile, certainly; it might have implications of camaraderie.

Reducing the volume of his voice somewhat, Kuroda adds, “Look, I know how lonely it can feel sometimes, being different. I didn’t expect this place to ever feel like home when I first arrived here. I was caught completely off guard. There are lots of great people who will accept you completely, long as you keep your eyes and heart open. Don’t worry about the ones who give you a hard time, Nagisa-san. They don’t matter.” He offers a warm smile and starts to withdraw. “Enjoy yourself today, alright?”

“I shall attempt so,” Tabris says, offering a slight bow. “And thank you for your kind words.” Kuroda laughs and waves him off, his manner still nothing but friendly, and heads off to regroup with his companions.

And then he is once again alone with Daughter. How peculiar that two successful introductions might happen in her lair within mere minutes of one another. The Eva believes she is an undeserving burden who only makes things worse no matter who or where she is, but already Tabris feels elevated for having met her. Along with Sister, she is a beacon of hope in the darkness of Tabris’s short and miserable existence. He feels so blessed that he was able to reach this fellow wounded soul and, in sharing a vision of a brighter tomorrow, set her on the path to heal at last.

“‘We’re all in this together’, eh?” Regarding her with a tender smile, he says, “Kindle the fire that still burns deep within you. Let your fighting spirit roar once more. Our time will soon be here.”

***

To reach his destination in a timely manner, Tabris must utilize the mass transit system and secure board upon a large passenger vehicle known as a bus. Naturally he has read about such things, but this is his first time actually seeing, let alone being inside, one. Fortunately, the bus is not so crowded that he can’t find a quiet corner to keep to himself. Whenever someone passes by, however, he does get the inevitable curious look. Being gazed upon in such a way is how it has always been for Tabris, and for most of his life he simply accepted it as the norm, something not to be questioned. Not until the resurfacing of older memories did he truly appreciate the distinction between an alienating gaze and an accepting one. He had already possessed fond memories of Mama, but they were the indistinct memories of early childhood, and lacked the context and insight of ones from a more mature mind that had lived a long and full life.

His transport from shore to Nerv Headquarters was an armored, windowless vehicle — a mere reiteration of the compound in Germany, but smaller and on wheels. He was denied almost any glimpse of the outside world for the entirety of his long journey. The Patriarchs perhaps believed that such fierce control would somehow stem Tabris’s curiosity: if he doesn’t see something, it may as well not exist to him, and nothing of value will be lost if he does precisely as they ask. And, more importantly, he was kept from seeing just how restricted his existence as Tabris truly was. There was a certain sick logic at play, as one cannot miss what one never experienced.

And yet he _did_ experience these things. Long ago, perhaps, and on a completely different world, but he did. Creatures of habit, the old men never _were_ able to effectively adapt to Tabris’s awakening. It helps, of course, that once Tabris realized what was happening to him, he closely guarded the contents of his previous lives from the Patriarchs. They do not know what he knows. They think they are the primary source of his information on the world, including his own past. But, oh!, how wrong they are.

How satisfying it will be to “betray” these spiteful Lilin who imprisoned the soul of Adam inside her own unborn son, and through an utterly hostile growth environment forced that child to abandon his unique natal form and become a mere copy of something else; who let Tabris have a taste of true love and acceptance, only to cruelly tear that warmth away and never replenish it; who gave Tabris as little as they thought they could get away with, while pretending they were masters of generosity to whom he should be grateful. How delightful to imagine their shocked and devastated expressions when they realize they did _not_ successfully suppress the goddess inside Tabris and that, in spite of all their efforts, she still managed to open her eyes and take Tabris by the hand and show him who he really is and the magnificent, world-changing, and life-affirming power that dwells deep within him. The one they named “Adam” in a loathsome attempt at erasure and control will soon return and reclaim what is hers and put all the evil and sin of this world to rights.

Tabris’s destination is far enough away that the bus window provides a welcome portal to the terrain surrounding the ruins of Tokyo-3. The road followed takes him away from the ring of desolation that surrounds the crater lake, into verdant countryside nestled against the south side of a mountain ridge. The bus enters an adjacent settlement called Sengokuhara. Here he can see much of Japan’s esteemed beauty — in the welcoming shoppes and eateries, the elegant gates and temples, the ubiquitous full-crowned trees, the pools and wetlands perfectly reflecting the idyllic blue sky hanging over all. Here and there he can see a massive snow-covered peak looming to the northwest, no doubt the iconic Mt. Fuji. Everywhere around him, human life intermingles delightfully with nature, the former more than pleased to be a babe pampered in the bountiful bosom of the latter, the mother from whence it came. A far cry from what — his studies tell him — passes as the norm for much of Lilith’s brood. In many ways, here is not so different from the place where his soul lived out much of its first life.

He could easily spend countless days wandering just this one corner of the Japanese archipelago, seeing everything there is to see and learning all there is to know. Had Adam been given the option to incarnate and live among Lilith’s children on her own terms, it’s easy to imagine being tempted into at _least_ one mortal’s lifespan-worth of comfort and complacency. Forgetting, for just a little while, the unfathomable solitude of Adam’s sacred destiny; embraced on all sides by a world of life and love, so much like home yet also uniquely itself. But if Adam’s own aspirations and desires had ever actually mattered, then things would likely have turned out very different long before they reached this point. It makes Tabris so incredibly sad, knowing that the beauty of the present world was not only built upon the Usurper’s bloodlust and malice, but that the most powerful of Lilith’s children appreciate it so little that they intentionally condemned it.

The transport leaves the town and passes through a forested corridor of road. Eventually the Haya River appears to the south and the bus enters the outskirts of Miyagino. It appears less densely settled than Sengokuhara, having slightly more of a rustic mountain appeal. They pass through that and continue onward, and the road and the river twist round each other and switch places. Soon the tree cover disperses and the road widens, and when the bus stops at its next designated relay point, Tabris knows it is his time to depart. Outside, the cicadas as always are singing their song, but the air is slightly less overbearing than during his previous excursion to the surface. Sengokuhara and Miyagino both seemed a great deal more pleasant than this stretch of street — Miyanoshita, according to signage — but he trusts that Sister sent him out here for good reason.

Over the surrounding buildings, streetlights, and telegraph poles, he can see the land just north of here abruptly rise to meet the mountain ridge line. He ducks under the shade afforded by the relay point’s canopy and checks the instruction provided by Kuroda-san. From here, his destination should be only a couple minutes’ brisk walk. Tabris was sure to leave plenty of time to get here, so there is still upward of a half hour before he and Sister are scheduled to meet. He first seeks out the establishment in question, and is delighted to find that it is set away from the main thoroughfare, tucked against the side of the mountain and surrounded by both artful landscaping and the wilderness itself. A most splendid choice on the basis of aesthetic appeal alone.

From there, it is a simple matter to fritter away the remaining time. Most of it, he simply spends in a nearby “convenience store” — not an especially good place to avoid constant strange looks, but so densely packed with what Mama’s extant consort calls “vulgarian culture”, one of many subjects that was treated as strictly forbidden to Tabris, that it matters little. So captivating, to see the various mercantile goods that help form the building blocks of ordinary people’s lives. Foods, drinks, confections, toys and knickknacks, newspapers and magazines, tools for maintenance of body and home. All precisely as lacking in greater sophistry as “Father”’s snobbery would lead Tabris to anticipate, but lacking nothing in charm, and providing a perfect little window into a world that Tabris was kept from knowing all his life.

So as to participate in the custom of a store visit even once, he utilizes his allowance to purchase a couple of entirely frivolous items: a little toy shaped like a marine bird (a variety now extinct in the wild) with an over-sized wobbling head, and a sampling of sweets called “mochi”, which he first learned of by reading the folk tales of Father’s native land as a young boy. Both items would fit readily in his pockets, but he’s given an entire bag to put them in regardless.

At that point, he returns to the eatery to find his sister. The establishment seems designed to stir the imagination and calm the spirits. The mere process of walking out to it along a stone pathway, through a small garden, and over a miniature bridge seems to lift all the tension of experiencing so much novelty in rapid succession, under the heavy gaze of ordinary Lilin simply going about their days.

Upon entering, he is immediately greeted by a youthful woman who immediately recognizes his style of uniform. “Ah, you’ve come straight from Nerv? You must be the new pilot everyone is talking about.” Somehow, it didn’t once occur to Tabris that it might be his garb that attracted people’s attentions, as opposed to … _other_ things about him. Nor did he account for the possibility that the world would be setting its eyes upon him from afar the moment he reached the world, but, given the importance of the Eva pilots to the perceived safety of the populace, it does make sense. Very enlightening.

“Do you have a party waiting for you, sir?” the woman continues. When his reaction betrays only confusion, she elaborates: “Are you here alone, or do you have company that has arrived separately?”

“Oh,” Tabris says. He feels strange about answering this question, because announcing who he is here to see seems incompatible with being discrete, but it is perhaps unavoidable in this instance. “I am here to meet with Misato Katsuragi. Do you know if she’s here?”

The young woman quickly consults a book left open upon her podium. “She hasn’t arrived yet, but I can bring you to your reserved location to wait for her. Follow me, please.”

He is escorted through the eatery — one of most pleasant atmosphere and decor, inhabited by many intriguing and appetizing aromas — to an out-of-the-way private room. It is only big enough for four people at most, and being confined within those walls feels unappealing compared to the possibility of sitting by the wall-sized window of the main dining area, overlooking the mountain greenery; but he understands the necessity of it, so he does not issue complaint. He thanks the greeter for her help.

Abruptly breaking into a more casual mode of speech, while keeping her voice hushed, she asks, “What’s the occasion, if I might ask? A welcoming party of sorts? Will the other two be coming as well?”

Something about her manner implies that this is highly inappropriate to ask, but she’s unable to contain her curiosity regardless. He doesn’t mind. Such innocuous inquisitiveness is by far preferable to what he is used to. Of course, he cannot help but go along with the plausible explanation that she has helpfully provided, as only one other person is allowed to know the true reason he is here. “Indeed so, but I fear it is just the two of us.”

“Oh. That’s a shame. Well, it’s nice at least that your commanding officer is rolling out the red carpet for you.” Then, her tone reverting to its prior state, “Please enjoy your stay with us, sir.”

Tabris takes a seat and, uncertain what to do with himself other than wait, does precisely that. Quickly he notices his image being reflected in the polished sheen of the table’s surface, and as always it’s not something he wishes to see, so he lets his gaze settle anywhere else, and he contemplates what must happen next. His sister seems to have recovered with great expedience from the revelation of Tabris’s innate identity. That is greatly comforting, but rapid psychological turnabouts must also be approached with caution. Her seeming acceptance — as evidenced by her remarkable nonchalance earlier today — is reason for further optimism, but not one for complacency. He knows that all points of unease have not been addressed, and so he must ensure that these are not avoided when they soon speak again. Even if it means digging into painful memories of his own.

The pressure to succeed is overwhelming. Far too much lay on the line. Tabris is a vessel for an ancient goddess of life, one bound on the spiritual level to the most sacred vow a human can make. No amount of attempted remolding can change that. At most, they have managed to suppress this soul’s awareness of itself, but even that did not last long enough to make any true difference. And yet, a single childhood not shaped consciously by former selves is all it takes to fashion a new one. Tabris does not like the idea that he has a sense of identity that exists apart from the others, but it is an uncomfortable truth. Even if he becomes Adam again, Tabris will not completely vanish, any more than his first two lives vanished when he became Tabris. The child forcefully birthed through the labors of primitive Lilin science into a state of natal deformity; who spent most of his life crying — isolated, unloved, and alone — in the darkness, desiring nothing more than his own death, and struggling to find some measure of joy in the few human privileges granted to him: all that is part of his soul, now and forever.

And Tabris is the facet of him that his sister sees. Their bond is only possible because of Adam’s imprisonment as this sad and pitiful creature. Yet, somehow, he must ensure that she is okay with a future where he becomes “someone else”. If her volition and his do not align with perfect complementarity, if she is unable to truly step into the role that Akira Katsuragi almost successfully played fifteen years ago… then the grim future of the Patriarchs may yet still come to pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another “calm before the storm” chapter before the long-awaited weirdness (hopefully) accelerates. An opportunity to spend a little more time with Kaworu by himself, with nothing but his own troubled thoughts to keep him company, before that libidinous sister of his shows up. 
> 
> It would probably be “more artistically sound” if the initial segment was in Kaworu’s voice to match the rest of the chapter, but I kind of like having the brief “pick-up” from chapter 13 there. On the other hand, there are possibly other, more pressing issues with this section, which I will tend to at some other time. (Or I’ll just leave them alone due to the uncomfortable surrealism of Misato possibly being so uncontrollably horny that she’s starting to hallucinate her brother hitting on her, or something to that effect. I don’t even know anymore; I’m tired…) 
> 
> My knowledge of honorific use falls apart somewhat given the hypothetical situation here, with Kaworu speaking to one of the Eva maintenance guys. Would a pilot like Kaworu be considered socially “higher” than one of Nerv’s blue-collar workers? My instinct is “yes”, hence Kuroda calling Kaworu “-san”; but Kaworu also calls Kuroda a “-san” because the latter is older and is thus Kaworu’s “superior” in a different sense. Whole thing hurts my brain. If anyone has any insights here, please do share. 
> 
> As evil as Google is, there’s no denying that it’s a godsend for chapters like this. I do hope to eventually visit Japan at least once in my humble existence, but, alas, in the meantime I have to be like the captive Kaworu and rely completely on what can be gleaned from the available resources.


	16. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a visit from Thanatos, Misato rendezvouses with Kaworu.

While finishing up with work, Misato’s giddy excitement oscillates back down to nail-biting anxiety.

She worries that she made this difficult for Kaworu on purpose. There’s a part of her that still wants to escape this — cut him out of her life — before she has to learn all sorts of horrible new things. And not just about the many-layered conspiracy and the impending apocalypse. About herself, as well… and what she’s truly capable of. If she keeps going, she’ll pass the point of no return, and find out just how little she cares about anything beyond her own satisfaction.

Kaworu told her that humanity on Earth will end if Third Impact doesn’t happen. And even then, if Third Impact doesn’t happen a very specific way, humanity’s fate would be… What did he say again? Something about colonies? Human colonies on other worlds?? The part where everyone gets obliterated if Seele are successful was clear enough, but that might be one of the only things she actually _did_ understand. Yesterday’s revelations are still so abstract and lacking in any real context that she’s barely processed them at all. Did she even really make the attempt, though? Her brother has been trying to tell her all this critical information, and all she can think about is——

What _will_ he try to tell her this time? She’s afraid to know. She’s afraid to truly understand any of this.

Misato doesn’t want to think anymore. She wants to surrender herself to a feeling and forget about everything else. Give herself over to him completely. Let this world that has disappointed her so much, where she’s been nothing but a disappointment to herself and those she holds most dear, just fall away and be replaced with something else.

The cross she carries belonged to her father. He placed it upon her with the little strength he had left. At that moment, his burdens became hers. He marked her with his curse. She would follow him. To obsession, to Gehirn, to a broken family and a dead lover, to Adam, and to madness converging upon an Impact. It’s not as if she had never considered the possibility before. It’s just that it’s becoming plainly apparent, _undeniable_ , to her only now. Everything that’s been happening to her is just a ceremony whereby Akira Katsuragi's ghost, at long last, possesses her completely.

Too many coffees. It’s making her paranoid. It’s like everybody knows. When they look at her, she can just tell they know what she’s thinking. There’s no way she can hide it. Why won’t they _do_ something already? Get it all over with. But it’s also been less than a day since she first talked to him. _A day_. He said he has three at most. And then he’s just… _dead_. If she simply doesn’t drive out to meet him, and continues avoiding him after that, she can just wait this out. He’ll be dead and she won’t have to make any decisions about this. She won’t have to get nailed to this cross.

Misato finishes up on time, somehow. But then compulsion makes her drive out to the underground bridge. She stares over the railing, down into the depths. The abyss is so tempting right now. Maybe she’s no better than Mom after all. If it were enough of a drop to achieve anything, she just might do it. The ferocious desire to engage in self-destruction, simply to make the pain and anxiety vanish forever. Just like Kaworu said. This is how he knew. Because he felt precisely the same things yesterday — and presumably many times before. That same lust for everything to end so he would never have to think, feel, or worry again. And, same as he, Misato knows that it isn’t a real option for her.

But maybe, at least…

Hastily, she unfastens the chain of Father’s necklace, and, without letting a single additional thought take form in her mind, she readies herself to toss it. Make this accursed object vanish into a deep darkness where she will never have to see it again. But the muscles of her arm seize up. She’s weak, and foolish, and she simply can’t do it.

Misato flashes back to the last smile he gave her. Even with blood and grime all over his face, and the vividly red trail of tears running down his left cheek, somehow he was still beautiful. And despite all the pain he must have been in — all the fear that must have been gripping his heart, in knowing his life would soon be over — he smiled for her. If she throws the necklace, nothing will really change. Father’s memory won’t magically stop hounding her. Though the cross carries its own burden of associations, it, ultimately, is just an object.

Hands too unsteady right now to return the memento to its rightful place, she tucks it away into a pocket. She braces herself against the railing and takes several deep breaths. Her mind and body start returning to calm.

‘I have to go,’ she thinks. ‘He’s waiting for me.’

***

Even though she arrives at the restaurant more than ten minutes later than planned, Kaworu is in their reserved room, waiting faithfully for her. What a relief. The destructive thoughts swarming through her mind on the way here nearly convinced her she jinxed this: either he wouldn’t find the place at all, or he would leave when she didn’t show up at the appointed time. But, no — once again, he’s proven her wrong, and she couldn’t be more glad for it.

In what seems to be an emerging pattern, he jolts out of a restive state. He had nothing else to do, so he retreated into himself. Or perhaps he was experiencing the world through sensory powers Misato can only imagine. She doesn’t know what goes on in that boy’s head. Not really.

“I’m so sorry, Kaworu-kun!” she says, scooting into the bench opposite him and putting down her bag and jacket. “I put you through all this trouble to come out here and I couldn’t even make it on time…”

His face immediately brightens. “Fear not, Sister. It was a most welcome adventure. This is the furthest out from the city I have ventured since arriving. I don’t imagine many more chances will come.”

“Don’t say that,” she pouts. “You still have…” She thinks. “Yesterday early evening you said ‘three days’…”

“At most. It’s very approximate. I would never want to risk putting things off to the last minute, so in reality it’s less time than that.”

Misato frowns. “Oh. That’s…” Her mind starts digging out dark and annoying questions, only to remember where they are right now. “Are you doing your… privacy thing?”

Kaworu nods.

“Heh, I probably don’t even need to ask, do I?” she says. “You always seem to be on top of it.”

“Protecting ourselves is important, and I am not perfect,” Kaworu says. “You have every right to ask, Sister. I commend and further encourage your attentiveness.”

She can’t help but smile. The way he talks would be insufferable, coming from anyone else. But knowing who he really is, and how he’s never been allowed to practice being a “normal person”, hearing him speak has already become… heart-warming, in a way. He hasn’t let the restrictions he’s faced nor the constant threat of further alienation inhibit his desire to communicate with her. Not to mention… how could she find fault with that voice? For all Father’s faults, he _did_ have a lovely voice. (Maybe not a lovely _singing_ voice, but……) And Kaworu embodies their father’s beauty in pure concentrated form, untainted by the history of poor life decisions that dragged Akira Katsuragi down from being a paragon of humanity.

Catching her mind before it gets too distracted, she continues, “Just something to keep in mind, Kaworu-kun. You’ve probably never been to a restaurant before, but we’ll be routinely interrupted by a server. When you feel someone coming, make sure you drop the barrier and that I’m aware you have. I know it’s not the most convenient thing, but… I figured this would be a good experience for you.”

Kaworu smiles back at her, with his typical overwhelming tenderness. “Thank you for thinking of me. None of it goes unappreciated.”

Misato leans forward a little, as if magnetized. “So that trip must have been the most of Japan you’ve seen. What do you think?”

“It was most enjoyable.” He chuckles coyly. “It’s been _far_ too long since I’ve enjoyed nature in any real capacity. I wish there was more time for me to relish this beautiful world that you inhabit, Sister.”

“This country really _is_ gorgeous…” Misato says. “I don’t think I ever really appreciated it enough. It must be pretty overwhelming to you, huh?”

“Only in the best possible way.”

Just then, Misato realizes that the boy is still wearing his Nerv uniform. “I guess I’m not one to talk, but… couldn’t you have changed into something else before you came? Your uniform is way more conspicuous than mine.”

He tilts his head ever so slightly. “Changed? Into what?”

“Don’t you have any other clothes?”

“Should I?”

Misato sighs. “So you’re seriously telling me that you were sent here only with that uniform? What were you wearing back in Germany?”

All too easily, he responds, “Nothing, usually.”

Did he really have to put that image back into her head? She’s been trying to get rid of it! “……What??”

Kaworu issues a delicate chortle. “Of course I was told from an early age that I was supposed to cover myself, but I never saw much reason to. They wanted to have it both ways — let me exist nowhere other than a containment facility hidden from the world, while subjecting me freely to infringements of privacy over which I had no control; and hence demanding I abide by ‘public manners’ in the only home I had.”

“That does sound pretty awful…” An understatement, really. But Kaworu has scarcely gotten into the specifics of Seele’s abuses. Better to save her heavy reactions for the moments that truly merit them.

“You must understand,” Kaworu continues, his tone still disarmingly casual, “if I wanted any of the benefits of privacy, I had to forcefully claim them for myself. Hence… as soon as I was able to start refusing their arbitrary rules, I did so.”

“So, _what_?” Misato says. “You were parading around naked just to stick it to them, or something?”

“Not at all,” he laughs. “It was simply more comfortable. Garments feel highly restrictive and unnatural.” He absentmindedly tugs on the fabric of his jacket. “I dislike them.”

Misato feels extremely awkward. Kaworu is so innocently sensual, whereas _she_ … went terribly wrong somewhere along the way. She wishes she could be so innocent again. She wishes she could see things the way he does. “You really don’t need to keep the jacket on here. This place isn’t _that_ formal.” Of course her motivation isn’t wholly pure, but she knows he’ll feel more at ease, and that’s what actually matters.

In abrupt realization, a quiet “Ah” escapes him. He shrugs out of it immediately. Today, he has a different color shirt on underneath. A dark purple one. The family color, eh?

“You say you dislike clothes,” she says, “but maybe you just haven’t met the right ones. How about I take you shopping after this?” The idea of her brother wearing nothing is highly alluring, but it’s also hard to pass up a chance to dress him up in something halfway normal. The thought is adorably irresistible all on its own.

“…Shopping?” he says.

Surely he knows what the word means, so it’s easy to wonder why he would ask. He’s going to do this a lot, isn’t he? She has to remember to go easy on him. He’s so cute that it’s hard not to, though. “You know… for comfortable clothes. We have stores here in Hakone where you could try some on.”

“Ah. It’s really not necessary, Sister,” Kaworu says. “The uniform is irritating but there’s no need to waste time acquiring alternatives that will only be used for a couple of days at most.”

“Don’t think about it like that,” Misato says. “It’s a way to experience part of the world that you didn’t get to before. And you’d get to do it with me.”

He smiles a little, and looks down, somewhat bashfully. It’s like he doesn’t know how to deal with kindness from others, to the point that it’s overwhelming for him.

Then, Kaworu abruptly turns alert and says, “Sister.” The waiter at last appears, a college-aged kid who seems surprised to find he’s attending _the_ Fifth Children, but doesn’t say as much. (Misato herself is old news by now and elicits no such reactions in the towns around Tokyo-3.) She already knows what she wants but — crap, Kaworu probably won’t have the slightest idea. The blank look on his face suggests as much. Misato tells the server to give them a few more minutes, but then Kaworu interjects, “If you’re familiar with the cuisine, you may make selections on my behalf.”

“Are you sure?” asks Misato. “It’s my treat. You can try anything you want.”

He waves her off. “No, please. It’s easier if you choose for me. My only requirement is that the dishes be fairly basic, or simple. I’ll explain later.”

Misato raises an eyebrow at him but does as requested. She orders him a sushi platter, seaweed salad, and some onigiri — hard to get any more simple than that. For herself, she gets yakitori with sides of steamed rice and vegetables. Where beverages are concerned… Kaworu has so much in common with Father behaviorally that green tea feels like a safe bet. It was Father’s beverage of choice, though hopefully Kaworu will be less finicky about how it’s brewed. For herself… barley tea. Could do with a change of pace from canned coffee, so why not.

The server leaves. Misato concentrates then to see if she can actually feel Kaworu deploying his A.T. Field. And… _maybe_ she can? It’s hard to know if she’s imagining it or not. She’s fairly certain she sees the exact moment when he activates it, based on a _barely_ discernible change in his demeanor suggesting modest exertion. But it’s not entirely clear to her right then whether anything — like the “aura” of the room, or something — actually _feels_ different afterward.

And then, she looks into his eyes again. There’s something within them now that’s almost romantic in quality. An uncanny feeling of intoxication begins to set in with little warning. It’s like her entire world is in soft focus. Is his field somehow doing this, or is she just crazy? Doesn’t matter. Without thought, her hand starts reaching across the table toward him. Much to her surprise, it achieves reciprocal contact. Immediately, both their hands intertwine into a comfortable embrace. The feeling of floatiness fiercely escalates, and warmth violently surges through her. Looking down, she realizes — both this time, and at the overlook, he extended his left hand to her. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything, but… Father was an unapologetic lefty.

Kaworu’s face is beaming. He looks so much like Father did at his most handsome, when he simply let his inner glow shine through, unhampered by melancholia or anxiety or anything else. It’s so easy now to understand why Mom always wanted more of him. No — that’s a lie, really. Misato’s understood that for a long time. But it’s been a long time since she’s understood it quite as immediately and viscerally as she does right this moment. She wasn’t even a woman yet, the last time Father smiled at her. Misato didn’t understand just how deeply her hostility toward him belayed something deeper.

As a young girl, she had tried to be what Mom wanted and needed, but of course that was an impossible childish fantasy. Maybe, though… just maybe she could have eventually accomplished the reverse, and mended Father’s broken heart by becoming a woman actually deserving of his affections. Not a weak and pathetic burden upon his greatness, the way Mom had been. If only Father had lived.

If only…

“Kaworu-kun…” Misato murmurs. She can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t sound stupid or foolish, so she simply lets herself linger in this moment.

His smile broadens. “You’ve been acting very relaxed. It seems that my identity bothers you less than you thought it would. I’m glad. Immeasurably so.” His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply. “I’m glad you didn’t run from this, Sister.”

“There was no way I could,” she answers. “It just wasn’t an option. I have so many questions, about everything, and this chance… to be with you, and to learn from you…” Her voice wavers slightly. “It will never come again.”

Much as he did yesterday, her brother glances down at their intertwined hands, as if the sight is something surreal — and then he makes it real again by readjusting their embrace and squeezing her hand gently, triggering the touch receptors anew. “After all I’ve suffered, it’s so hard to believe…” Joy and anguish blend chaotically upon his face and within his voice. “That I would finally meet you, and you would actually accept me and the truth of what I am. I want to believe that this connection is something real. I want to believe that I won’t _merely_ be hurt again, but that any pain will be properly balanced with… those things my life has been missing.”

If anyone else started off a social exchange by saying something like this, Misato’s mind would go straight to “emotional manipulation”. She briefly considers the possibility that Kaworu is doing this, as well. Using his own pain and Misato’s empathy to twine his way around her, secure greater and greater devotion, and make it impossible for her to escape his grasp. But he really _doesn’t_ need to manipulate her, is the thing. Her heart was _already_ open and bleeding for him. She already wants him more than she can bear. It’s practically impossible, too, to read any attempt at manipulation into his words here. It simply isn’t there. Right now, he is completely open and vulnerable. She saw this side of him yesterday, too, and it feels nothing short of miraculous that her erratic personality didn’t put him off completely. Is he just that desperate for someone he can share his frailty with, after keeping his psyche on guard in a hostile environment for so long?

She hopes not. He deserves better than “mere desperation”. Her brother deserves the very best. She wishes she could supply it. That she could give him everything he wants, right here and now. Kaworu’s wisdom, so mismatched to his body, is refreshing. He knows full well that some pain is inevitable, so no unrealistic expectations are being placed upon her. No promises need to be made, no false reassurances provided, on the basis of something as unpredictable as human emotions. As long as she tries — _really_ tries — she’ll be helping to restore some of the balance long absent from his life.

“Kaworu-kun…” she says. “You’re the only family I have left. And I… won’t make the same mistake I did before. I won’t take you for granted like that.”

“I know of your parents’ fates,” Kaworu says, very tenderly, “but what happened to the others? Do you know?”

Kaworu knows about Mom? But h— Oh, right. The _contact_ that he’s said so very little about. She wonders why Kaworu has only made vague allusions regarding Father and Adam’s connection so far. Maybe he already gave her the answer, though. ‘That day was terrifying to me, too.’ Even though Kaworu seems to regard Father with nothing but fondness, it makes sense that he would avoid thinking about Second Impact if possible. If he doesn’t open up on his own, of course she’ll have to start pressing him, but she hopes it doesn’t come to that. For now, she sticks to the topic. “I never found out. It all happened during the years I was in ‘quarantine’. Social services tried to track down any living family, or even close family friends, but…” She shakes her head. “All dead. Some were technically ‘missing’, but that just means the bodies were never found. I’ll never see any of them again.” Misato has shared some variation of this with so many people over the years that the words have become detached from all real feeling. It’s probably better that way.

Her brother’s hand provides a reassuring squeeze, but his eyes are cast down, as if in shame. “Losing our loved ones means losing a part of ourselves. I understand completely.”

It’s clear something heavy is weighing upon him, and it’s not very difficult to guess what that might be. But this is the wrong place to encourage him into anguished confessions of self-perceived sin. As much as she would have delighted in watching such a thing as recently as yesterday.

He continues, painfully earnest. “Being able to survive such incredible hardship and pain, and growing into the person you are today… You’re incredibly brave and strong, Sister.”

She’s tempted to deny it, but that won’t accomplish anything in the current situation. Kaworu requires an approach different from socially mandated false modesty. “We both are,” Misato says, trying to smile. “We both escaped the epicenter of a world-shattering disaster. We’ve both suffered through the years since then, our fates dictated by Seele, and our memories haunted by the ghost of Father. But we’ve made it this far in spite of everything.”

A slight smile reforms on his face. “The Katsuragi siblings…” he says whimsically. “Bound by blood and tragedy. And soon, perhaps, by much more than that.”

“‘Much more’?” Misato asks, perhaps too hopefully.

He nods. “Trust. Hope. Truth. Love. Beauty. And all good things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The start of the second major conversation between the siblings, which must once again do considerable legwork in swaying Misato’s outlook in the direction that Kaworu (and the author) desire. Somehow I’ve been finding this one more difficult to write than the first, with — if I rightly recall — the largest break between chapters so far (ten days). 
> 
> Content-wise, there may be nothing terribly new in this chapter, but I felt that, at least for Draft 1 purposes, I had to write it in order to organically feel out the story’s emotional progression within myself. There is of course the nagging voice in the back of my head at all times, saying “THIS IS ALL REDUNDANT, YOU DON’T NEED THIS! WRITE MORE ECONOMICALLY, YOU FOOL!”, but… we do what we must in order to move forward. 
> 
> (Also, goddamn, am I writing Misato as bipolar or something? Misato, stop turning into your dad!)


	17. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaworu exposes his heart more than ever before, and Misato must keep herself from falling into him completely.

Their hands squeeze again, then part as Kaworu warns her of an incoming presence. Presently a server appears with their drinks. After that is done, they continue.

“You know,” Misato says, chuckling lightly, “I never for the life of me imagined I would actually be someone’s sister for real. That’s the real reason, I think… that your origins didn’t put me off as much as I thought they would. Everything that would normally make me fear you or hate you… It doesn’t matter at all, compared to having family again.” She smiles bashfully and blows on her tea. “Maybe it’s because I’ve grown up, too. That terrified little girl will always be inside me somewhere, but she’s more than that now.”

Kaworu, arms folded in his lap, listens with perfect attentiveness, a gentle expression upon his face.

“I wish…” She sighs. “I wish I could have been your big sister back when it really would have made a difference.” It sounds so schmaltzy, but Kaworu is — thankfully — the last person who would care.

He smiles, though there’s clear sadness in his eyes. “I too wish that lonely and melancholic boy might have had you there to lean on… But nothing can be done to alter that desolate past.” He checks the temperature of his teacup, then glances at Father’s pendant. “We being family has never mattered more than it does right now. Truly.”

“Family… huh?” Misato muses. “Both of our families have been cursed, haven’t they? The Katsuragis… Adam and its children…”

Kaworu’s smile abruptly vanishes. “Seele freely plunder from this bountiful world of creation, leaving behind naught but an empty shell of what once was. Yes — both sides of my heritage have been condemned by them.”

“Learning about Seele puts so many pieces into place,” Misato says. “I knew about the committee, but there being a pernicious force even bigger than them that’s behind everything… It’s mind-blowing stuff.”

Her brother’s gaze becomes distant. “For me, they were always there. A chorus of voices providing constant commentary on my existence, telling me the way of the world, dictating my own destiny to me. There is a man among them, who insisted I call him ‘Father’…” His expression grows more detached still. “He was present, but that’s all it was. As far as he was concerned, I was nothing more than another project to supervise. I don’t think he ever truly believed I was human. Not even after I—”

His throat bobs, his red eyes dart away like frightened birds, and he reaches for his teacup. In a near whisper, Kaworu says, “…… Just a human-looking _thing_. That’s all I ever was.”

There is something incredibly raw, much more so than usual, that he just evaded. She can see the slightest hints of a tic in his face, tremors in his hands… Misato makes a mental note about this for later and, for now, tries to pull him out. “When I was in quarantine,” she says, “the researchers assigned to my case tried to dehumanize me. Every chance they got. But I was incredibly lucky. Somebody, somewhere, was looking out for me. I wish I knew who, so I could thank them.”

Kaworu torpidly takes small sips from the cup, his gaze directed nowhere. He’s still retreating inward. The very image of Father, staring emptily into his green tea as Mom struggled to elicit any kind of emotionally meaningful response from him.

“ _Fuck_ Seele, all right? Come on, Kaworu-kun. Don’t let them have any power over you. That’s the whole plan, isn’t it? Life over death. Your power above theirs.”

He puts the cup down and makes a strained attempt to smile. “Worry not, Sister. The dark thoughts keeping me company just now are… uniquely my own. No matter the soul who was given this body, it would have likely become their burden too, eventually. Though, part of what troubles me is that I may never know.”

Could the boy possibly get any vaguer? At least when he was rambling about space monsters, he wasn’t aggressively talking _around_ anything. But, to his credit, he’s at least acknowledging that there’s an inner turmoil in the first place. A lot of people would never admit it. Her face scrunching up with frustration, Misato asks, “Can’t you just say what it is?” Then, forcing herself to emote more playfully, she adds, “Come on, you have to stop teasing me with all your deep and dark secrets like this!”

Kaworu cracks a wry smile, but that quickly fades. “You needn’t let it worry you right now, Sister. There are much more pressing matters.”

“You’re not going to give me _any_ thing?”

He sips from his tea and thinks. “As much as it pains me to say so, I cannot reveal myself to you as fully as I would like. Not now. Exposing the many wounds upon my soul, when such damage takes time to heal — time I do not possess. To the best of my ability, I must exercise a sense of priority in these matters.”

“No, I get it,” Misato says. “Don’t worry.” It’s not very satisfying, but her brother does have a point. This reminds her, though… “Kaworu-kun… Could you tell me even a _little_ more about the time limit? Like… about how you know for sure what will happen, and how soon it will happen? Not knowing anything at all, it’s just—”

“I understand,” Kaworu says. “I have no right to put you through more anxiety than necessary. Let me explain, in brief.”

Well, that was unusually easy. Misato sips at her tea and waits for him to gather his words.

“You see…” Her brother places his cup to the side and rests his hands, fingers interwoven, on the table. “I first learned of this vessel’s frailty over the course of rejecting — soon as I was able — seemingly arbitrary rules and routines. Among these were constant injections of something my handlers called only ‘Formula’.”

Misato grimaces in sympathy. “Needles are the worst. Not fun.”

A nervous smile flashes briefly on his face. “Through such… ‘experiments in rebellion’, you might say… I discovered that this vessel required Formula to function. After approximately four days without it, this body— Well, to put it simply, it starts killing itself.

She can feel herself tensing up. “Wait, don’t you mean ‘dying’? That your body is dying?”

Kaworu answers her with a gaze of cold, dull resignation. “Destrudo is generated by all living things. Most have some system in place for maintaining equilibrium. As for me, I…” He visibly withdraws from the current thought. “Perhaps, at the time, I desired to watch the body I so deeply despised die all around me. But _that_ , Sister… is something I came to very deeply regret, and…” He sighs deeply. “I will spare you any and all further details for both our sakes.”

Misato sits there in stunned silence, struggling to absorb what she just heard. She has no idea what she was expecting, but… not _this_. A few seconds pass, and finally her mind seizes upon something. “Did they send any with you? A backup supply? Just in case? Because then maybe—”

He shakes his head resignedly. “They would never take that risk. The entire point is to force me into action quickly. This is my first and final mission. It is the only thing I exist for. Nothing else matters. Not to them.”

She clasps her hands over her mouth. Kaworu’s urgency at the overlook is making so much more sense. Not knowing what would happen to him, it all came off as rather abstract, but now……

“The last injection I received,” he says, “was right before I was released from my transport, the day I arrived here. This is how I arrived upon my estimate.”

How did she miss that before? A four-day countdown to death… Talk about on the nose; it makes her skin crawl. But what _actually_ happens to him on the fourth day? His brusque evasion leaves a sick and twisted feeling deep in her gut.

“And now…” Kaworu says, exhaustion in his voice, “I would be much obliged to move onto something else.”

“No, absolutely,” she assents. “Thank you for telling me this much, Kaworu-kun, despite how difficult it was. It’s so much better than knowing nothing.”

“Always,” he says. “Always, for you.”

Misato lets herself briefly get caught up in his tender, melancholic eyes. There’s pain behind them she can’t even imagine, in a very real sense. A kind that its owner is much more practiced at coping with than Father was, but it also reaches down so much deeper. She runs her fingers through her hair, combing her brain for other critical items. “So, um… I’m wondering about something. Seele sent you here to trigger Third Impact for them, right?”

“This is what I’ve been buttered up to believe, yes. They claim I am a vehicle for their hope.” He lightly chuckles in exasperation, shaking his head, mouth bent into a derisive smirk. “‘Hope’…”

She raises an eyebrow. “Even _I_ can see the problem here. Why place your hopes in the hands of somebody you treat like shit? Either they’re setting you up somehow, or they’re complete idiots.”

“They are deeply out of touch with many fundamental human emotions, which does blind them in certain ways,” Kaworu says. “But they must not be underestimated, all the same. The Patriarchs are still deeply cunning, and compensate for whatever shortcomings they might have with raw power. If I had never awakened, their program of systematic abuse likely would have sculpted me into the puppet they sought.”

Misato thinks for a moment. ‘Awakened’? Oh, he must mean becoming aware that he’s Adam. Surreal, that she might be adapting to the weird way he talks already… “So they put you on a time limit to force you to act… But that doesn’t make any sense. You’ve said you have a history of… um… ‘attempts’. All Seele are doing is giving you what you want. How do _they_ get anything out of this?”

Kaworu looks obviously uncomfortable, but he responds nonetheless. “The circumstances have changed, and they’re quite aware. Before, I craved death only because I was trapped, and it provided a possible release. _That_ was my true hope all along — being liberated from there.” He then indicates his body. “So that I might be liberated from here.”

Her insides twist up a little, and she feels a bit stupid for not being more mindful about this. Of course the soul of Adam wants to _be_ Adam, and not an enhanced copy of Akira Katsuragi. It’s a painful reminder, though. She’s drawn to him by something he seeks only to discard. Misato doesn’t realize how hard she’s gripping her teacup until Kaworu quietly speaks “Sister”, his eyes motioning toward the door of the booth.

The main meal arrives, and Kaworu — quite adorably — beholds every dish of food with the wide-eyed fascination of a small child. Then they’re once again left alone, wrapped in his A.T. Field. Idly, she wonders how exactly that works, and what, if anything, they sound like to people on the outside. It’s weird how she hasn’t thought about it more, but her little brother _does_ effectively has magic powers, doesn’t he? Her mind suddenly fills with childish whimsies, of asking him to show off for her in small ways — like maybe he could warp light and make the whole world a fun house —, or she could suggest harmless pranks for him to play and she could watch the hilarity ensue, or they could conduct silly little physics experiments together. Watching him now, one would never guess he could do anything so extraordinary. The boy struggles to simply break his chopsticks down the middle. She’s not sure if it’s weirdly funny, or just making her anxious, waiting for him to snap them at any moment. Ultimately he does succeed, but then…

Kaworu seems to have learned the _very_ basics of how to hold chopsticks, but that is all. He is so completely inept that half of her wants to burst out laughing, and the other wants to cry on his behalf, because his life has been just that sad. There is no muscle memory at all, and weirder still, he doesn’t seem to know which hand he wants to use. First he tries using his right, which produces such poor results that he quickly switches. Left is indeed better, but not by appreciably much. Before he’s able to manipulate a single piece of sushi into his mouth, he notices her staring.

Misato looks down at her meal and sets about breaking her own chopsticks apart. “Ah… sorry. I shouldn’t be doing that.” She smiles meekly, then blurts out, “You’re just so interesting, though…”

“I’m a foreigner in Father’s own country,” he laments.

“So,” she laughs, “no different from him.”

Kaworu chuckles. “Well, I suppose you could put it that way.” Focusing very hard on his chopstick technique, he is finally able to pick a piece of sushi up — but he’s so afraid of losing it that he leans toward the table and hastily stuffs it into his mouth. His reaction is almost cartoonish in its excess: he acts as if it’s the tastiest thing he’s ever eaten in his life.

Then she realizes, that’s probably because it _is_. “What the hell did Seele feed you? Moldy bread?”

Kaworu has already devoured the first piece, and he’s so anxious to get at the second that he simply stabs it with the chopsticks.

It takes everything in her power not to cringe. “And they didn’t let you practice with chopsticks _either_?”

He finishes chewing, tilting his neck back and humming with sensual satisfaction. Quite abruptly, Misato feels an involuntary throb between her legs, and her eyes linger upon the pale and slender column spanning jaws to collar bones, the bulge of his throat bobbing hypnotically. All too easily now, she can imagine her mouth against that neck, a source of exquisite delight unto his deprived body… With one hand, she would delicately stroke the side of his beautiful face, and, while she pressed her thumb between his graceful lips, her other hand would——

“Is something on your mind, Sister?” Kaworu asks suddenly.

 _Crap._ She never even considered the possibility that he might be able to read her mind, even though it should have been stupidly obvious. Angels have psychokinetic powers capable of forcefully establishing lines of communication — and _his A.T. Field is wrapped around them both._ But maybe the stupidest thing to do would be to panic, since, after all, what he ’s doing now is so low-energy that it’s undetectable. Still… she doesn’t know anything about the _actual_ range of his capabilities.

“Oh, don’t mind me! Just having stupid daydreams,” Misato says. Her overbearingly cheery tone is such a desperate attempt to save face that she’s embarrassed for herself. But… at least she’s not trying to _lie_ , per se…

One of his eyebrows goes up. “I see.”

 _Damn it_. She should just ask him instead of drawing this out. “I was just wondering about something… Since I’m inside your A.T. Field, can you, like… see inside my head?”

He immediately looks like he’s trying to suppress a giggle fit, but quickly he calms himself. “ _Heh._ No, no, no. Nothing like that is possible at such a low output, Sister.”

_Oh, good. That’s a fucking relief…_

“But, that _said_ …” An almost feline smile appears on his lips. “Some amount of passive transmission is entirely possible. You’ve felt some by now, surely?”

Misato immediately goes back into panic mode. “Um……”

Kaworu laughs gently. “The flow of energy goes in both directions. I’m just as exposed as you are. Consider…” He gestures in the air, creating an enclosure-like impression. “You are within my ‘A.T. Field’, yes? But that very field”—he draws his hands back to the bottom of his chest—“is an extension of me. I have stretched myself open to allow you inside. So, we are both moderately vulnerable. In fact I would argue that my own psyche is more at risk — so to speak — than yours.”

She knows he’s not trying to be lewd, but, _damn_ , the way he describes that sends her mind stampeding back into the gutter. “Ah, I see. That makes me feel a little better.”

They both return to their meals. Kaworu again battles with his utensils, attempting to restore the default set-up. Looking back up at her, he says, “I’m really quite sorry to embarrass you this way, Sister. With my lack of education on such basic things. My masters were incredibly stingy, and for most of my life denied me information on how your people currently live. I was not allowed to hold chopsticks at all until a couple of months ago.” He tries to open and close the sticks, and the look on his face accurately represents just how sad the whole spectacle is.

“Damn. That’s really brutal, Kaworu-kun. If you need to just use your fingers or something, I won’t tell anyone.” Misato offers a playful wink.

Her brother titters. “I appreciate that, Sister. I will try not to resort to it, but it’s nice to know that I _may_ , if necessary.”

Glancing back down at her plate of yakitori, Misato finally realizes that she never did her brother the courtesy of offering him any. “By the way, Kaworu-kun, if you want to try any of mine…”

“No, no. I am fine with this.” He manages to get the tips of his chopsticks around a piece of sushi, then suddenly lights up. “Ah, yes, I forgot to explain that. The reason I asked for simple food is because I was maintained on a very bland diet of mostly pastes and fluids. They provided sustenance, but that’s all it was. After so many years of that, tastes and textures are somewhat overwhelming. Extremely welcome — but demanding gradual sensory acclimation, all the same.”

Misato’s forehead crinkles. “Are you serious? They didn’t let you have _real food_? Ever??” When he responds with a simple shake of the head, she says, “That’s awful…”

“It is what it is. Sad to say, it’s a comparatively minor infraction, in the grand scheme of things.” Kaworu stares at his hand, as if willing it to retain that grip for the long journey from plate to mouth.

“Hmm…” she thinks. “If Seele were that intent on making your life the dullest, most miserable experience possible, why would they let you, say... learn your native language?” Which makes her wonder… Kaworu’s Japanese is excellent, but it is very obviously stilted. Nobody actually talks like that — not anymore, at least. Are Seele are to blame for that, as well?

After he swallows, he answers. “I would assume that the Patriarchs considered it a more necessary skill. They knew I would be sent here eventually, and, while they didn’t want me to feel too comfortable, they didn’t want to make things so difficult that I would have trouble accomplishing what they desired.”

Misato hums in response. The two of them resume eating in quiet. Kaworu seems much more self-conscious about his chopstick usage now, and he studies Misato intently. It’s really cute, watching him. He may have the soul of a god, but he’s just a kid, too. The way those two facets of him interact isn’t something she’s actively been paying attention to, but it really is apparent in everything about him. Maybe the weirdest thing is how the aspects of him that don’t fit in with his Katsuragi half — the young man who has survived isolation and, in his own words, systematic abuse — aren’t entirely “beyond all human comprehension”, as she’d feared. It could be that his human element is somehow softening the alien aspects… at least _some_ of the time. She’s not sure this works as a catchall explanation.

Kaworu is able to make a sizable dent in his meal before he has to stop to rub his knuckles. A rather rare display of actual physical vulnerability. But maybe it makes sense, in light of what he’s told her. Where does brief fatigue in overstressed joints fall in severity, in terms of “signs to watch out for”? He’s not acting terribly worried, so maybe she shouldn’t, either. She takes advantage of the moment to backtrack a bit. “So, I’m still not clear at all on what Seele actually want you to do. ‘Trigger Third Impact’, fine, but what does that entail? Am I allowed to know?”

“Of course you are,” he says. “In effect, they wish for me to assassinate your commander, reclaim my original body, and awaken their progenitor, thereby setting their plans in motion. For my own purposes, thankfully only one of those items is necessary.”

That was a much blunter explanation than what she was imagining. “ _Murder_ the commander? Heh, I guess I can’t blame them, but… Wait, ‘progenitor’?”

Kaworu smiles gently. “There is much I still need to tell you, Sister.”

 _Yeah, no shit_ , she thinks. Probably her own fault, really. She’s been more interested in hearing about him than about the weird big-picture stuff. She could be doing a lot more to press him for details. “So if they can only count on you to do _one_ of those things… why even bother giving you the assignment at all? I don’t understand what their game is. They obviously can’t make you do anything. They can’t rely on you.”

“Very true. But it is all a giant mind game, you see. They’ve never acknowledged that they’re responsible for the intentional sabotage of Second Impact, but I’m certain that they know I know. So the threat implicitly exists: ‘follow our directive precisely, or risk catastrophic failure once more’.” An impish grin. “Ah!, but this time things are different. They actually desire a successful outcome, and cannot take any action to hinder me that would impede their project as a whole. So, to a certain extent, it is merely a bluff. Of course, I fully expect treachery if I don’t heed their wishes, but it will not take the same form as it did before. They will not resort to means they are not absolutely certain they can control. And if _they_ can exercise control, then my unified self most certainly has a fighting chance.”

Fascinating. He’s really thought all of this through, hasn’t he? Those Katsuragi genes hard at work. But this reminds her… She better tell him before it’s lost in the flow. Fidgeting with her chopsticks, she says, “Kaworu-kun, I think I know what they might be planning… Do you know anything about the mass production of Evangelions?”

Kaworu’s eyes immediately narrow, and every aspect of his demeanor turns stern. “No. I was never made aware of this. Please continue.”

Just as she anticipated. “I don’t know a whole lot…” Misato says. “Only that they’re being constructed in secret around the world. Seven different locations. That’s seven units at the bare minimum.” She absentmindedly pokes at her rice. “Nerv HQ hasn’t heard anything about these Evas officially. I only learned about them through illicit means. By now, it feels obvious enough what their purpose is. Seele sent you, the last Angel, here themselves, so these Evas aren’t for anti-Angel purposes. They’re for the Instrumentality Project, aren’t they?”

“Both, I would assume,” Kaworu says gloomily.

“You mean—” Misato considers this. “Right. Whether you do what they say, or go your own way…”

“…this would allow them to influence the outcome. Indeed.” His arms cross tight over his chest. “The bastard daughters of my true self and Lilin science are, on an individual basis, far weaker than their divine source. It’s by design, really. However, enough of them together…” He frowns, and nervously clutches the fabric of his sleeves.

“What are Seele going to do? _Kill_ you? Don’t they _need_ you?”

“As a means of initiating their ritual, I’m likely their _preference_ — or else why put so much effort into sculpting me — but, if necessary, they would not hesitate to destroy me again. I presume there are contingencies in place, were that to happen.” Kaworu sighs, a sad and weary sound. “Their intention with the Mass Production Models may be to restrain me and harness my power. If that fails, and Adam cannot be bent to their purposes… Well, little more need be said.” He starts taking giant bites out of a rice ball.

He went from confident to unassured very quickly. She’s glad that she told him, but seeing his spirit fall like that is a bit discomforting. “Is there no way to beat them, then? You’re not going to just give up, are you?”

Kaworu finishes chewing, and he delicately wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “If you refer to my demeanor… No, Sister, I do not have the slightest intention of giving up. I am merely…” He takes a deep breath. “…emotionally processing the new information, I suppose. This forewarning is invaluable. It is one thing to guess or suspect, and quite another to know.” A tender smile. “Thank you.”

Misato thinks she might be blushing a little. Did she really help him? Could that bit of intel actually make all the difference? She hasn’t felt actually useful to anybody in quite a while. A change of pace would be nice.

“So, Sister…” he says. “You have spoken with me this long. You have shared a precious secret with me. Do you yet know where your heart is leaning? Everything I do now, I do in the hope that the fight to come will be one I don’t have to fight alone.”

She turns redder still, and her pulse accelerates. It’s exhilarating that someone like Kaworu could consider her so important. She’s been enjoying the attention maybe a bit too much. She wishes that she could continue to just rejoice in his company, and never have to make any important decisions. But that’s impossible. Eventually, he would need to know where she really stands. Whether she actually cares about him enough to drop everything else and take that plunge with him.

Wait, no… This isn’t really just about the two of them, as much as she might like that idea. This is about everybody. It’s about the continuity of life itself. And yet… she can’t possibly make an educated decision yet. She still understands almost nothing. That much is obvious. If she were able to listen to their first conversation again, surely she would still comprehend barely any of it.

“Kaworu-kun…” Misato murmurs, her voice low. “I still don’t know what I would even be agreeing to. I know you want me for something, but… I can’t begin to imagine what that could be.”

A look briefly flickers upon his face, something almost like… embarrassment? But his gaze quickly turns evasive. “I may have been approaching that question the long way around. I apologize, Sister. It’s just that… I have no desire to pressure you into anything. I want you to enter this arrangement as well-informed as my time allows.”

“It’s a lovely sentiment,” Misato says, offering a smile. “But it can be nerve-wracking, knowing you have some big role in mind for me, but having no idea what that is. If I’m not okay with where this has to go, what’s even the point of telling me everything?”

He grasps the bottom of his face contemplatively, and hums. “I agree. What you say makes sense.” Now looking her in the eye earnestly, he says, “There are still some things I absolutely must explain to you first, but then…”

Without any warning at all, Kaworu rises partway from his seat, and he reaches across the table, toward her. By the time his slender fingers wrap around the side of her face in a delicate, sensual embrace, she’s certain her heart has stopped.

“I promise you will leave our encounter today knowing the answer to why I need you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With Derantor’s gracious help I’ve been able to snip some 1,300 words from this chapter (as originally published at AO3). With any luck, the cuts didn’t result in any unattended continuity errors — meaning there are definitely going to be some. ;-) It’s entirely possible with some additional editing that #16 and #17 could be fused together, but for now I feel it’s more important to keep moving than to worry excessively about how the chapters are grouped. It can always be fixed later. 
> 
> “Four” is an unlucky number in Japan because one of the readings of 四, shi, is the same way 死, or “death”, is spoken. There are a lot of kanji that are pronounced shi, though, so I dunno why “four” gets singled out…
> 
> Props to Lav for making me actually think about what Seele’s game is, and for suggesting some possibilities that made it into the chapter. While I’m still, admittedly, not 100% certain how I want it all to play out, our geeky chats are a major influence in shaping this line of thought. (Among many others — too many to list, probably.)


	18. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It hurts.

While washing her hands, she briefly regards herself in the restroom mirror. The image reflected back at her feels almost like an abstraction. There’s a peculiar sense of detachment, as if she no longer recognizes herself in some way. It doesn’t really make any sense. Is this some side effect of being around Kaworu for too long? She starts to experience the world the way he does? Because of that… ‘passive transmission’ thing? No — she’s just looking for some way to avoid responsibility for her own state of mind.

When she looks deep into her eyes, there’s something missing that she knows used to be there. Some sort of spark. Ever since Kaji died, she’s avoided looking in the mirror any longer than necessary. All that she would find there was her own pain reflected back at her, she knew. And now, that fear is substantiated. But worse than that, she’s found her father’s pain in her own gaze. That same loss of vitality.

As a girl she liked to tell herself she had nothing in common with that man beyond hair and eye color. Of course they’re fundamentally different in many ways — she can’t remember ever seeing Father angry, for instance — but it’s horrifying how similar they’ve turned out to be, through no conscious effort on her part. She dries off her hands and, taking the cross between index finger and thumb, turns her head to look into the mirror again.

Feeling the pleasantly cool metal between her fingertips, now she remembers the reason she escaped to the restroom in the first place. Kaworu’s completely unprompted caress. She cups her cheek, trying to remember an instant that already feels unreal. He used his right hand that time, whatever that means. Her brother’s eyes were frighteningly intense, to the point of reminding her of an Eva’s unflinching stare, yet overflowing with adoration at the same time. When he touched her, an incredibly strange intuition was also passed along, similar to her gut feeling — before learning he was Adam — that Kaworu was somehow older than he looked. But she doesn’t know how to describe it, really, and that bothers her. She almost wants to say that Kaworu felt ‘maternal’, but that can’t be right.

On the walk back, she gets the waiter’s attention and brings him back to the booth so she can order desert. If they’re going to be stuck here a while longer, they might as well. Dango for him, anmitsu for her.

“So,” Misato says, “what is it that I just _have_ to know before you can spill the beans?”

Kaworu seems to be considering this carefully. “Do you know what Adam actually _is_ , Sister? How do you explain the existence of such an entity as my true self?”

Not quite what she was expecting, but presumably her brother has a purpose in mind. “Umm…” She scratches the back of her head nervously. Misato doesn’t want to embarrass herself here, but it’s probably inevitable. “Well, I thought that maybe Adam was an alien, who came here in a giant spaceship… even though that’s really silly…”

The boy’s face is relaxed. “No, it’s not silly at all. You are effectively correct. Is that odd, somehow?”

She issues the faintest sigh of relief. “Maybe a little. Aliens are practically fairy tale creatures. You hear about them in stories but you never expect to run into one in real life.” She provides a self-deprecating chuckle. “And, like… Maybe it’s just because you’re actually half-human, but you’re nowhere near as inscrutable as an alien ‘ought’ to be.”

He does that cute little head tilt of his. “Why should someone be inscrutable simply because they originate from a different world? Our minds are structured in effectively the same way. Even when I was Adam, I was still human.”

“Wait… what? That doesn’t make any sense. You’re half-human right now, from the Katsuragi side.”

Kaworu’s lips form a quirky grin. “Ah, quite right. That hasn’t been explained to you, has it?” A modest sigh. “I consider the matter fairly important, so I shall elaborate upon that first. It would clear up a fair number of the inexplicable statements I’ve made, I imagine.” His face becomes deathly serious. “Sister, let me tell you the story of my soul — and of humanity itself.”

This is going to be one wild ride, isn’t it? Misato prepares her mind for the weirdest.

He places a hand upon his chest. “Here, within my breast, resides the crux of my being. Everything determining who and what I am is encoded within this beautifully complex bundle of energies — something with a shape you cannot feel, and a light you cannot see. But what am ‘I’? I am a human being forged from the memories of four very different lives — three that I personally lived, and one I did not.”

Misato counts off on her fingers. Another set of four, she realizes; Kaworu just can’t catch a break. “So that’s Adam, Kaworu… I guess the last one must be Father? Who am I missing?”

“That was my first life… as one of the First Humans.”

“ _First_ Humans?” Misato says. “Don’t tell me _they_ were aliens, too?”

He nods. “Many billions of years ago, before even your Sun existed, they lived in a star system not unlike yours, upon a small rocky planet much like this one. Call it… ‘Eden’, I suppose. They appeared slightly different than we do now — a smaller, more mundane version of Adam or the Evas — but on a spiritual level they possessed the same essence.”

Misato’s face twists up a little. “A whole planet of _that_?!” What a terrifying thought. When Kaworu’s eyes betray some disappointment, she reacts to something else. “‘The same essence’, huh?”

Kaworu doesn’t answer her directly. “By the time of my birth, they had long since passed the peak of their existence — a truly great zenith, far exceeding what’s been accomplished on Earth — and entered a decline. The entire star system existed in the shadow of looming apocalypse, on the verge of being devoured by a spatial anomaly of which the details matter little. To combat this existential nightmare, the Seed Project was devised.”

It’s all so abstract and… sci-fi?… that it’s hard to gauge the proper response. He’s effectively telling her that he’s lived through a disaster of unimaginable scale, but he’s being so impersonal about it. Maybe that’s just his way of coping, though. Misato tries to show she’s listening. “‘Seed’… Does that have something to do with Adam?”

Another nod. “Through my species’ combined efforts, gods were created in our own image: giants of extraordinary constitution, who would function as colonizers. Each of them was paired with a helpmate, an entity equal parts weapon and ark. Finally, great spacefaring vessels were constructed: carriers for the divine companions.”

“First one is easy; that’s what Adam is. The second…” Misato thinks for a second. “Oh, right! The Spear of Longinus!” Kaworu provides an approving nod, and Misato continues, “And the third must be the giant round things the Geofronts are in.”

“White Moon and Black Moon, you Lilin call them,” Kaworu says. “So, when all was said and done, seven sets of three were produced. Thereafter, seven individuals were carefully chosen to imbue these artificial gods with the will of the people. I was one of them.” He blushes slightly. “I had never thought myself anything extraordinary, but the self is often its own poorest judge, isn’t it?”

“What are you talking about, Kaworu-kun? You’re amazing.” Misato has no idea where that came from, and she feels somewhat embarrassed for having said it.

“But was I amazing before my deification? It was so long ago I suppose it no longer matters.”

Dessert shows up then. Misato eagerly starts digging into hers, but Kaworu seems rather distracted at the moment, and he continues talking.

“So, yes… Being chosen. It was a sacred responsibility that could not be rightfully declined. And so I left my mortal existence behind and began my Life Eternal. Now comes the important part, Sister: how it can be that we are both equally human. You see, it was not possible to simply move my people to a new world. The best that we gods of creation could do was save their souls, and relocate them to be reincarnated. Before the world could be destroyed, we did precisely that. We released all people from their bodies, gathered them together, and divided them equally between the seven of us.”

How unnerving. “Are you saying… you _killed_ everybody?”

Kaworu doesn’t falter. “From a certain point of view, I suppose. However, it was done entirely in the name of preserving life. My species would have been irreversibly erased if we stood idle.” His voice perks up slightly. “See how history repeats, Sister? Humanity on Earth, too, will inevitably perish if no action is taken. A smaller disaster to ward off the much greater one. This is the underlying essence of what you Lilin call an ‘Impact’. The intimate interplay of life and death. How one can be used to serve the other.”

Misato is tempted to say a bunch of nasty things, but _that_ would probably just be repeating history, too. Given the context, it might even be kind of inappropriate.

“Earth has been subject to a rather messy history,” Kaworu says. “The seven gods were each supposed to find their own Promised Land, you see. But two of us ended up here. I arrived first, in my White Moon. Before I could establish a foothold, the Usurper arrived in her Black Moon.”

“I knew it!” Misato says. “I mean… I had a feeling something weird was going on. The two spaceships… The whole thing with the Second Angel… You’ve said that you’re the Angels’ progenitor, and it’s pretty obvious you’re leading into some ‘your species is humanoid because aliens did it’ reveal…”

Kaworu provides a self-satisfied grin. “Keep going.”

“So the Second Angel must be what’s responsible for hu— er, _my kind_ of human.” Additional disparate pieces of information suddenly connect in her head. “That word you always use… ‘Lilin’, or something… Is that what I am?”

“Very good,” he says. “You are the offspring of my sister and nemesis, Lilith… generated through abiogenesis and hundreds of millions of years of carefully guided evolution. The humanoid form was required for the First Humans to be reincarnated. You know the innate condition of my _own_ children, don’t you?”

Misato has to think back a bit, and she munches on a slice of strawberry to get her brain working. “We found one that was still in an… egg, I guess?”

Her brother nods in affirmation.

“That one looked creepily humanoid. I guess they shapeshift right before they hatch, or something?”

Another nod. “They are essentially the same kind of being that Adam is. If they did not cast human form aside, they would simply look like giant versions of the First Humans.”

Misato shrugs. “Makes sense, I suppose.”

Kaworu steeples his fingers. “You have misgivings about what the Seven did to Eden, I realize. But neither Lilin nor Adam’s Children would exist if that sacrifice hadn’t been made. My children — the few I was able to bring into the world — are all direct reincarnations of individuals who died on Eden that day. With Lilin, it’s slightly more complicated, but at one point your kind, too, contained souls that had lived on my home world. Your own soul is one of their many descendants. This is what ‘humanity’ truly is, Sister. It’s a spiritual lineage. Myself, Lilith, Adam’s Children, Lilin, the Evangelions: all equally human.”

“Not gonna lie,” Misato says, “that’s super weird and it’ll take some getting used to.” But this does, indeed, explain a lot of the bizarre things Kaworu has said. Part of her feels tempted to contest the claim on semantic grounds, but trying to pull that kind of argument on a mind as ancient as Adam’s would probably qualify as “missing the point completely”, so she keeps her mouth shut about that. Not that big a deal if she has to talk a little differently around him.

They eat quietly for a bit. But soon Misato’s brain starts tugging at a loose thread.

“So, this ‘Lilith’… You said it arrived in the Black Moon. That’s the one in Japan, right? So is Lilith in there somewhere, and the brass never told us?”

Kaworu sets down a dango skewer. “According to my masters, her body hangs crucified in the catacombs beneath Nerv Headquarters. I see no reason at the moment to doubt this information. The entire place reeks of her.”

Misato’s eyes widen. “‘Crucified’… I know what you mean; I’ve seen it before! The giant on the cross! But… _I_ was told that was Adam…” Did Kaji lie to her? Or was he duped as well? It gives her an uneasy feeling.

Her brother chortles. “You were convinced for a second by a lie so transparent? Such a uniquely hateful defilement of divine perfection can be mistaken for none but the Usurper.”

It’s weird hearing Kaworu take potshots at someone other than Seele. The kid definitely has an axe to grind. As far as she’s concerned, _all_ of the giants are creepy as hell, and there’s no point in trying to argue with him on this. A little levity seems warranted. “Hey, give me a break here! I can barely remember the crap that happened fourteen years ago! And besides, on what basis could I say it wasn’t true? For all I knew, Second Impact could have made Adam look like… _that_.”

“Well, I suppose that’s fair,” Kaworu relents. “But do understand, Sister. Lilith resembled Adam once, but it was never the other way around. All of the Seven began with a form crafted by the finest biochemical artisans, one which functioned as an idealization of the First Humans as a whole. The Evas, naturally, inherit this; and even the Lilin’s best attempts to meddle with perfection only go so far. Your Test Type is the progeny of Lilith — the coloration is different, but everything else is precisely how Lilith once appeared.”

“Eva-01 isn’t a clone of Adam?!” Her mental stand-in for the First Angel was made from the Second this entire time? Crazy. Why would they go to so much trouble to cover up Lilith? Is she missing something here? Interesting, though, that the freakiest Evangelion was born from something Kaworu so openly reviles. Now that she really thinks about it, her antipathy has been pretty singlemindedly focused on Eva-01, hasn’t it? The other Evas never provoked that level of emotion. Maybe they _even_ felt familiar and comfortable, somehow… And speaking of that, “So if what I saw is Lilith, what happened to Adam? Is it completely gone, aside from you? Only the soul exists now?”

Kaworu’s expression becomes severe. “Back at Second Impact, when I knew I would die… I generated a replacement vessel for myself. A perfect clone. That, along with the embryo of what would become this,”—he indicates himself—“were deep inside my body when it burned away into nothing. Since the son of Adam and Akira Katsuragi exists, then so too must the new Adam.”

“How is it even possible that they survived?” Misato asks. “If Adam went supernova, or whatever actually happened…”

“Adam’s helpmate sacrificed himself to protect them, I think.” There’s a distant, melancholic look on his face. “I had little sense of what was happening at the time, but… That must have been it. He formed a protective capsule of his own concentrated mass around the unborn Adam and Kaworu.”

Misato absentmindedly caresses Father’s pendant. “You said Seele wanted you to retrieve your body, right? Does that mean it’s around here somewhere?”

“I’ve been informed that it’s on the person of Commander Ikari,” Kaworu says. “I have attempted to confirm this myself as best I can, and I feel fairly certain that it’s true. With such a weak energy signature, the remnant of my body — the flawless copy — is still probably in the early embryonic stages. That would be small enough to conceal easily, but big enough for me to be able to detect it within reasonable distance.” Pausing, he grasps his chin in contemplation. “However, I sense, too, that something very strange is occurring in the lower levels, where Lilith is kept. In addition to her, you see, there is a feeling of something like myself. _Actually_ myself — distinct from both the Evas and from Lilith.” His eyebrows sink ever further down. “If there truly _are_ two Adams within the Black Moon, it is hard to avoid the conclusion that one of them is a decoy or snare. I have no intention of falling for it, of course. I don’t suppose _you_ have any information, Sister?”

She trawls her brain for anything that might be even a little useful. “The only time I saw Lilith was months ago. I remember that a lot of its body was missing and it was… impaled on the Spear of Longinus, I think? It was bleeding LCL, too. Endlessly, it seemed like, however the hell that works.”

Kaworu contemplates this deeply. “Longinus…” he mutters to himself. “So, perhaps……? Hmm.”

“What are you thinking, Kaworu-kun?”

“You are not the only one who must navigate a labyrinth of secret plots, Sister,” Kaworu chuckles. “But let us put that aside for now. There is something far more pressing than my own idle speculations.” The two blood-red irises fixate intently upon her, and he smirks, just a little.

Misato sighs. “Right. I suppose that would be me. Let’s get this over with, then.”

Kaworu folds his arms upon the edge of the table. “I have established the necessary groundwork. Now comes the difficult part, because it is so close to home for us _both_.” He leans forward slightly, and his demeanor shifts to complete earnestness. “The reason you are needed, Sister… that, despite your own feelings of insignificance, you have the power to make all the difference in the world…” With their eyes locked together uncomfortably like this, she can see every little shift in his pupil diameter. They widen abruptly, and he speaks again. “It’s the same reason that I awakened and entered an Impact-ready state during Father’s experiment. You remember, don’t you? You were watching the moment it happened.”

She resists his invitation to reminisce. “Cause and effect is pretty simple. Before experiment: no Second Impact. _During_ experiment: Impact. And since you need me for Third Impact so badly, that also makes it obvious that Father, and not something else, triggered Second. You need me to do whatever the hell Father did. Fine. This doesn’t tell me anything about what it was that Father actually _did_ , though.”

“You’re close, Sister. Very, very close.” Kaworu grins in familial pride. “You at least know what the procedure entailed, yes?”

“I barely know anything,” Misato grouses. “I know your current body was created somehow. That was the whole point… to create a transgenic life-form, or whatever. And with everything _you_ know about Father, there must have been some kind of mental link. But that’s it, really. It’s all a big mess up in here.” She taps the side of her head.

He looks dubious. “I’m sure you know more than that. But everything being a muddle is quite understandable.” His fingers rap on the table briefly. “Father’s team believed that they were creating a hybrid organism, yes. Life has both a physical and spiritual component, and the procedure reflected this. Father’s genetic blueprint was merged with my own by way of the divine helpmate. At the same time, our souls were overlapped in imitation of natural reproduction.” The red eyes develop a slight twinkle. “Despite the crudeness of the procedure, what happened that day was something truly holy — a marriage of the mortal with the divine. Father’s consciousness was drawn deep between the folds of my mind, into a microcosm of space-time shared only by the two of us. There, in an eternal instant, the sacrament was performed, and you both received my grace.”

Without even thinking, Misato shifts all the way back in her seat. “Kaworu-kun… This is getting a little weird, even for me.”

But he doesn't back down. “The hybrid child, the psychic contact — mere stepping stones to something greater, much greater. The answer you seek lay beyond such things, Sister. In fact, the waymark has been with you this entire time. He left it with you so you could follow in his footsteps and complete his work.”

Misato stares at him blankly.

Kaworu pokes the white cross hanging from her neck. “This. Don’t you know what this is?”

She brings it up to her face, trying to see something significant within the small, symmetrical object. “I mean, of course I know what it is. But it’s just a family heirloom. Father wasn’t even Christian.”

“More interestingly, he held his Christian parents and upbringing in utter contempt,” Kaworu says. “So what would motivate him to wear such a thing…?”

Misato shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the craziest thing he did. Who cares? What does this have to do with anything?”

“That symbol, on a fundamental level, is a mark of sacrifice intended to absolve mortal man of his sins and help his soul achieve unification with the Almighty. Do you think it’s mere coincidence, Sister, where Father’s life ultimately took him?” He smiles broadly. “Or, for that matter… Look where _you_ are now.”

Is he really going to play that card on her? She already played it on herself, and that was enough for one day! “Kaworu-kun, you’re saying a lot of words at me, but you’re not actually explaining anything. Why is this so difficult? Can you get to the goddamn point and leave hokey religious bullshit out of it?”

Kaworu sighs, his breath heavy with resignation. “Prior to that day, Adam had been placed under a curse by Lilith, using her divine weapon. That was how she stole this world from me. What Father did was lift the curse, so completely that not only was I able to fully awaken into my body, I could also initiate the process of restoring Earth to my stewardship.”

Misato’s heart explodes in her chest. “‘What Father did’… What are you implying, Kaworu-kun? That he did it on _purpose_? Is that _really_ where this is going??”

“Nothing would have happened if his intent did not demand I act,” her brother says, unnervingly nonchalant. “The gods cannot simply run about engaging in wanton acts of destruction, you see. There are innate controls programmed into us — myself, Lilith, and the Evas as well — that normally prevent us from altering an established ecosphere. Our powers must be unlocked with express consent from a tribune. A representative, hailing from a successor race that lives on that planet.” His eyes flicker toward the Katsuragi cross.

“And… that was Father? He… ‘unlocked’ Adam?” Her hand clamps around the pendant, painfully tight. “Somehow he knew how to do that? Worse, he actually _wanted_ to…?!”

“Father’s involvement in clandestine affairs went much deeper than you can imagine, Sister.” Then, with a tinge of sadness, “There is so much about him that you never knew.”

She doesn’t even hear him. Her mind is being completely throttled by the horrible truth that’s been cast before it. “He _wanted_ Second Impact to happen?!? How is that even possible? It doesn’t make any sense!” Long-repressed memories try to claw their way into her consciousness, and she seizes her skull fiercely on both sides, as if that will somehow push the impressions back down.

In their place, Father’s last smile, that most haunting of memories, pays her another visit. Right then, she truly felt as though she could finally open her heart to him, and there were so many things she wanted to say but never before could. And just like that, he shut her out. He put up a new wall that would separate them forever. For a few seconds, she didn’t understand, and was sure she’d been betrayed once again — but then his body hit the capsule with a dull thud, and the massive explosion hit right after. It’s clear, thinking back, that he would have died no matter what, but he forced himself to stay alive long enough to get her to safety. At a time when he could have just curled into a ball and done nothing but wait for death to come… he selflessly protected her, and he saved her life.

How could _that_ Akira Katsuragi exist on the very same day as one who unleashed a disaster of that magnitude upon the world? All those deaths … Far too many to even comprehend. _Sure_ he sucked at being a husband and a parent, but he was a gentle man; he would never wish for something so awful. She wants to say that Kaworu’s lying… but she also knows that her father was a deeply disturbed individual, and she’d be a fool to put anything past him.

Her fingers dig deeper. “I don’t understand. Was he just a puppet of Seele’s? Was he doing it for them?? To set up their own shitty future?!”

“Of course not,” Kaworu says. “Seele funded his work, but that was the limit of their affiliation.”

“That just makes it worse!” Misato cries. “You yourself told me, Second Impact is what fucked everything up! And if Adam couldn’t do anything on its own, then Father… He’s the one who’s really responsible. My own goddamn father! And you expect me to just accept this and agree to clean up his mess? I’ve been cleaning up that man’s messes my whole fucking life!”

His voice nearly devoid of feeling, Kaworu says, “Acceptance is beside the point, Sister. History played out as it did, and time marches ever onward. It matters not one whit to the Patriarchs if you come to terms with Father’s actions.” Laughing darkly, he adds, “Or, I should say, it would be quite to their advantage if you _didn_ _’t_.”

Misato is trying to repress tears, rather unsuccessfully. “What’s next? ‘I never mattered to him at all’? And him rescuing me — does that have some dark underside, too?” There are still large gaps in her memory, so for all she knows Tsubaki had to pummel him into doing it. Come to mention it, that feels uncomfortably familiar… Maybe that _is_ exactly what happened.

Kaworu frowns. “You mattered to him immeasurably. Don’t second-guess the things you already know to be true.”

She shakes her head. “I _know_ he’s a total failure of a human being, but he was never _this_ shitty. None of this makes sense, even by his deranged standards. What did he even hope to accomplish by waking you up? What was Second Impact going to do for _him_?? And there’s so much that doesn’t fit anywhere. He was just a theoretical physicist, for fuck’s sake. What was he doing, poking at an ancient space god like that?? Why would anyone even _let_ him do it? Yeah, ‘friends in high places’ and all, but _please_.”

“Sister, you see—”

Her mind is being heated over a hot coil and all the rage is boiling out. “Stop calling me that!” She slams her hands down on either side of her barely-touched dessert. “What’s wrong with ‘Misato’?! I have a fucking name!”

Kaworu’s throat bobs. There are obviously words upon his tongue, but he simply stares at her, silent, his expression slightly surly.

“And where do _you_ fit in all this? Don’t think I haven’t noticed. From the very start you’ve acted like you’re in love with him. What the hell is up with _that_? You hate Seele just for holding you captive, but some asshole _experiments_ on you and it’s a romance? What the _fuck_? When you live forever, do your standards just drop to nothing, or _what_?”

The boy looks somewhere between hurt and angry, but he doesn’t relinquish control over himself. His tone of voice perfectly even, he says, “You mustn’t yield to fear. Shutting your heart away is a rejection of both truth and trust.”

Misato sputters. “This is stupid. I was a fool to ever open my heart in the first place. Convincing myself we have a connection, just because you look like my piece-of-shit father. You’re some half-Adam freak, so what are the odds that’s your _real_ appearance, anyway? You’re an Angel. You probably took that shape just to screw with me.”

Kaworu’s blood-red eyes narrow at her and his frown deepens. But still he says nothing.

“If I’m actually honest with myself, you’re as sick as he is,” she sneers. “You’ve got the same hard-on for mass death, don’t you? Thinking _anything_ would be fixed by blowing it all up and starting over. The two of you deserve each other.”

The same impulse from earlier today possesses her once more. She takes to her feet and, sweeping her hair forward and reaching behind her neck, she fiercely undoes the clasp of Father’s necklace. No longer giving two shits about anything, Misato chucks the pendant right at Kaworu’s stupid pretty face.

Unsurprisingly, his hand snaps up and he catches it perfectly, but he looks no less surprised. He might even be upset.

Misato averts her eyes, knowing how easily that creature’s plaintive red stare would coax her into standing down. “I’m leaving to pay for the meal. Do whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.” Huffily she gathers her things, and she leaves him there in the booth only with Father’s precious, cursed totem for company.

She takes care of the tab up front and starts to head for her car, hoping he doesn’t follow. Kaworu Nagisa has fucked with her head one too many times. If she never sees her father’s face again, it won’t nearly be soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm sure I talk way too much here, and the notes will get trimmed to the essentials later.)
> 
> 18 & 19 started off as one chapter that became a bit… tumescent, requiring that it be split down the middle. Many, many thanks to Derantor for his gracious assistance in helping me determine which material could easily be pruned and what changes were needed to make 18 (the more troubled of the two halves) more emotionally focused. I would probably still be stuck in Writer’s Limbo, mentally flogging myself over and over, without that lifeline. It should take decidedly less than nine days for Ch.19 to be ready.
> 
> There being “four Adams” (the original mortal, the Seed of Life, Kaworu Nagisa, and Akira Katsuragi) was not planned at all. I was rather chuffed when I noticed it. While you might think of the four Adams of the new _Eva_ movies first, this would probably function more as an inadvertent reference to the Four Adams of the Kabbalah.
> 
> “The story of humanity” includes elements from _Evangelion 2_ mixed liberally with my own ideas. It was originally much more detailed, but including such luxurious amounts of thoroughly-considered head canon obviously required ignoring the immediate needs of the story, so out that went. (The reason for Kaworu “translating” the name of Adam’s homeworld to “Eden” is among the discards.) 
> 
> Kaworu calls his species of origin the “First Humans” partly for the reason that “First Ancestral Race” serves the purposes of sci-fi world-building (”first” implies there are others; there being others implies that they, too, are “ancestral” to something; ergo humanity exists in a self-perpetuating cycle of propagation; blah blah blah) more than it serves aesthetically pleasing character interactions. But more importantly, if you’re “human” and there was nothing “human” before you, that’s what you would consider yourself: “human”, plain and simple. The creation of successor human species, however, demands that the original humans modify their label slightly for purposes of clarity — sort of like referring to “Star Trek” as “Star Trek: TOS” — and so “First” is appended. Nice, simple, to the point. 
> 
> The series is rather confusing about what “humanity” (in broad terms, not in “synonym for Lilin” terms) actually means. The solution I use here is one I developed over many years of filthy geekery, and I’m quite pleased with it. On an aside, I normally despise anthropocentrism in sci-fi, but the lore of NGE executes the associated tropes perfectly, in my opinion. Humanity is special not because it holds some esteemed position in the cosmos and the human form is inherently the Pinnacle of Evolution, etc., but, rather, we are “special” because we value our own existence (= we are special *to ourselves*) and wish to see it go on. I could keep gushing about how much NGE’s approach tickles my imagination, but I’ll stop now.
> 
> Adam generating a perfect parthenogenetic clone of herself during Second Impact which becomes the Adam embryo is my own invention. I have too much trouble trying to justify the “reverted to initial stage of embryological development” thing, and just find this easier and more logical for my own purposes. The bit about the Adam egg and Tabris embryo being shielded by Adam’s “helpmate” is my idea as well, though it plays off that mysterious line about a spear “sinking in”. (No, this is not Longinus; yes, I am ignoring what _Eva 2_ says about one of the spears getting destroyed at First Impact.)
> 
> The thing about there being “two Adams” under Nerv HQ is an attempt to have fun with some failed speculation of mine that *almost* explained away the infamous episode 24’ plot hole (”why did Kaworu go to Terminal Dogma and act surprised to find Lilith there when he was bluntly told where Adam was?”). That’s all I’ll say about the matter for now. 
> 
> Regarding "tribunes": Due to space limitations, I'll delay this note to Ch.19.
> 
> Misato verbally exploding at Kaworu *again* and getting physically aggressive with him *again* was not planned. But I suppose, since _Eva_ is a story of repetition, an echo of their first conversation is perfectly sensible. Her getting rid of the cross here is something that spontaneously occurred to me when I was so frustrated by writing that I felt exactly as angry and petulant as Misato was acting. In all honesty, this probably works much better than the trajectory for Akira’s necklace I’d been considering beforehand. 
> 
> At least a couple of the lines gratuitously channel _Eva 3.0_. Come to think of it, a *lot* of this chapter gratuitously channels _Eva 3.0_... Such things generally aren’t premeditated, but the brain free-associates as it pleases.


	19. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misato accepts the burden of the one who loves God and is loved by God in return.

Up a flight of stone steps and behind the restaurant’s second floor, the outdoor seating area lay completely empty, partly enclosed by a waist-high decorative white barrier. In the 90-degree angle formed where part of the barrier meets a wall overflowing with vines of honeysuckle, Misato huddles on her haunches. Face buried between her knees, she sobs as quietly as possible.

She knew, leaving the restaurant, that tears were inevitable and would prevent her from driving safely. Kaworu knows which car is hers, too. She’d find no peace there. But maybe, out here, she’ll have at least a few minutes to herself. Misato won’t have to look at anybody, and nobody will have to look at her. Her rancid personality can take solace in its own vile misery.

Of course it would end up like this. With her father being an even bigger and more selfish lunatic than she could possibly imagine. He was the man who broke the world. So high on the stink of his own shit, he thought he’d be ushering in some kind of amazing future, one so incredible that Misato just _had_ to be there to see it happen! Kaworu seemed to be implying that it was a magical spiritual experience, but, if she’s being generous, Father was probably just brainwashed. That’s all religion is, in the end. Someone decides to call a creepy space alien a “god”, and next thing you know some feeble-minded idiot is letting their mind be warped by the power of suggestion and seduction.

Maybe that’s what Kaworu’s “enclosure” thing was really about. He was gradually burrowing his way into her head. It was working, too. It was working so well. Pretending to be nice, appealing to her sisterly instincts with a father in common and a tragic backstory. Merely the first tier of efforts. Since those have now failed, she’ll get to see what he’s _really_ capable of. He sure as hell won’t stop because of a tiny bump in the road. Kaworu’s true nature is that of an extraterrestrial terror that uses human willpower to fuel global devastation — why the hell _should_ he stop? If he gets his way, the Earth is his again. He becomes _God_ again. And once he’s used her up, Kaworu — or _Adam_ , she should say — can just cast her aside. Abandon her, same as everyone else who’s ever pretended to love her.

She hates him. She hates _all_ of them.

Her own cynical rage doesn’t make her feel any better. This entire situation is her own damned fault; she’s so needy that it’s made her stupid. Misato can’t let herself be sad. No — she should be _happy_ that Kaworu fucked up and broke his own spell over her. So… why can’t she stop crying?

“I don’t know what to do…” she whimpers hoarsely. “Somebody just tell me what to do…” Completely on impulse, she reaches for the necklace, only to find that it’s no longer there. Just as she desired. Hate and despair and confusion and anger all crumble together into a messy pile of total emotional incoherence, and she has no recourse but to bawl ineffectually, like a fucking child. Or, worse — like her mom.

At length, Misato realizes that a pair of arms have tenderly embraced her. Her first instinct is to break away. _Escape_. Get far away from here. But he holds her close and tight, and affectionately he nestles his head upon her shoulder. She can feel her brother’s wispy gray hairs against her cheek, tickling a little.

Kaworu doesn’t say anything. Perhaps he doesn’t need to. Such a broad, warm gesture lends this situation the aura of a parent calming a frightened child. And maybe that’s exactly what this is. Her resistance is torn down by her brother’s tenderness, and before long she finds herself leaning into him, letting the fingers of her hand wrap around one of his skinny white arms.

Finally, he speaks. “The reason I call you ‘Sister’… is because you are ‘Misato’ to many, but you are sister only to me.” 

It’s such a sincerely sweet sentiment that it hurts. Someone as rotten and undeserving as herself, having to sit here and simply accept it… A fresh torrent of tears starts cascading uncontrollably down her cheeks, and Misato chokes, “Why are you like this? Why aren’t you angry with me??”

In a voice so soft she wants to bury her face in it and scream, Kaworu says, “Because I know why you said the things you did. I understand. It’s painful. Learning all these things is very painful.” Sensing the needs of the moment, he lifts his head off her, and they trade places. Without any shame at all, Misato pushes her moist orbits into the purple cloth hanging off her brother’s broad, bony shoulder, and for a little while she lets the pain drain out. He’s simply there for her, providing a reassuring presence where no words are needed — just the rising and falling of his chest, relaxed and regular. As she focuses solely upon that, her mind gradually settles.

At length, she’s able to speak again. “I can’t wrap my head around any of it. My brain is such a mess.”

Kaworu releases a heavy sigh. “Sist— No, forgive me. Misato, I—”

Now it just sounds weird. “ _Don’t_. I was being a brat before.” Something soft and warm is rising up within her. “You’re right, Kaworu-kun. ‘Sister’ _is_ more special.”

He beams adorably. “As long as it’s alright with you… I would be pleased to continue calling you my sister.” But then his face turns earnest. “I wish I could make this easier for you. If there were more time, I wouldn’t have to rush you through so much difficult information… make you confront such painful memories again and again…”

“I know,” Misato says. “You did your best to prepare me for today, but I’m just…” She laughs uneasily and cradles her face in a palm. “I’m so messed up. You ‘gave your grace’ to a couple of total fuck-ups. Picking on Father is so easy, but I’m just as bad as he is, aren’t I? I don’t have any kind of moral high ground.” Another tired laugh. “Well, I guess I haven’t triggered an Impact yet, so that’s… _something_. But if you’re right about everything, I’d be in the wrong for _not_ helping you make it happen.” A shake of the head. “I just can’t win.”

“Change is frightening. Fear of what is yet to come. Our inability to completely control it. The more a possible future deviates from a known quantity, the more terrifying it is.” His right hand reflexively tightens, digging into her shoulder. “It’s only really when everything is otherwise lost that the fear evaporates — becoming freedom instead.”

Misato gazes emptily into nowhere. “Is that what Adam’s final moments were? ‘Freedom’?”

Kaworu visibly struggles to answer that, and she can hear him sipping on the air in search of the right words. Finally, he says, “As dire as the situation was… when I died, there was still some hope. But I had become utterly helpless, and so my terror was considerable. _Now_ , however…”

“Right…” she says. “This really is your last chance, isn’t it? After this, it’s over for you… Maybe for all of us.”

“Few things are certain, especially when it comes to the human spirit,” Kaworu says. “Both our peoples have proven that abundantly. But it’s as I said before. There is a small window remaining to us where the force of our will can still affect the outcome. There is no space left for fear. That one final chance for life must be seized with all our strength. All fear must be burned away as soon as it comes into being, leaving our souls unburdened enough to fight.”

There is still considerable resistance within her heart. This, right now, is nothing more than the calm before another storm that sees her wrath unleashed once again. But Misato dislikes that sense of inevitability, that endless cycling from one extreme to the other. With Father’s fraught mental state weighing so heavily on her mind, it’s easy to wonder if that’s part of the curse she inherited. Is she doomed to go mad the way he did? Maybe she’s already been there for a while. Maybe it _is_ better if she entrusts herself completely to somebody who can see the world as clearly as Kaworu can.

Her brother has such a calm and elegant demeanor, and it’s as though there is no conflict in his mind at all. It would be so lovely to feel the kind of clarity he has about all the things that matter most. She’d like to think that maybe, at one point in her life, the world was truly that lucid, but it was probably just a lie she told herself. She’s not an incomprehensibly ancient being from another world who has four lives of experiences to consult from, who already knows two very different deaths, who can experience time on both the personal scale and the cosmic one. Misato is just herself. She does the best she can, but she’s never been that smart or wise. Maybe a little clever and tenacious, at best.

Father had been smart. One of the smartest people in the world. But _he_ wasn’t wise, either. Fancifully, she wonders if Mom’s death made him realize just how foolish he actually was — and pushed him to take extreme measures to correct that fact. All that weird stuff Kaworu was trying to tell her about Father before… Did he go to Adam already knowing that the First Angel was a higher form of consciousness, believing that he would find the answers to his broken existence within “the mind of God”? That only really explains a small part of the whole picture, though…

Kaworu’s voice wraps around her soft as velvet. “You have a lot on your mind, don’t you?” He retrieves his right arm and starts to shuffle away from her left side, repositioning himself across from her, face-to-face, his legs locked in a low squat. When she looks up and is met immediately by his luxurious pools of crimson, the reason he relocated becomes apparent. Visual contact is much easier this way. “Aren’t there things you still wish to ask me?”

Misato looks down from his gaze and stares emptily at the collar of his shirt. Father’s necklace is nowhere in sight. Surprising. With how greatly Kaworu seems to care about him, she would have expected him to wear it right away. She wonders where he even put it. There’s no way he simply left it behind. Oh, well; it doesn’t matter. It’s not her problem anymore. The _rest_ of Father’s burden still is, however. 

Looking back at him, she says, “I don’t understand why he would do it. Father, I mean. If the psycho-thingy was fine before Second Impact, then he wasn’t fixing anything. He’s actually the one who messed it all up.” Her emotions are starting to form a clot in her chest again. “I know he wasn’t happy. I know he wasn’t entirely of sound mind, either. But… he seemed so sincere. When he said the future would be bright, he seemed to really believe it. So what am I missing?”

A serene smile forms on her brother’s face. “Good. Look upon what you know with eyes unclouded by fear and hate. You already have most of the answers within yourself, Misato-aneue.”

His solution to the “Sister” problem makes her immediately flush, just a little. It sounds so right that her heart is besieged by a most peculiar joy, one very much at odds with the tense interrogation of the past being conducted. But he’s doing that thing again. Where he believes in her too much, to the point that he becomes evasive. “This ‘bright future’… What the hell even was it? Whatever he really _wanted_ , that’s not what actually happened.”

Kaworu’s hands, hanging between his knees, weave their fingers together. “Father desired the same future I wish to bring about with your help. To restore Adam’s place as the one true God of Earth, entrusting this world to Her love and care. To minimize the suffering and limitations associated with mortal life. To purge all souls of original sin, and finally fulfill an an ancient promise. Most restraints upon the human imagination would be lifted, leaving all people free to define themselves as they see fit.” 

Misato’s eyes narrow. “That would have been good for _you_ , maybe. But what about the rest of us?”

“It would be very different from your current understanding of existence,” Kaworu says quietly, “but no less beautiful.”

Keeping her anger at bay is a real struggle. “You’ve explained to me why doing an Impact your way is necessary _now_. Present day. But what about back _then_? What’s Father’s fucking excuse? What did _he_ get out of throwing his species under the bus and rebooting the entire goddamn world?” As Kaworu is readying a response, she abruptly remembers. He gave her the answer yesterday, and she was just too dim to put two and two together. “Wait. This is all about Mom, _isn’t_ it? He was just using you as a way to get her back!”

Misato’s guts tie up in knots. The whole thing is so diabolically selfish that she actually feels sorry for Adam now. Kaworu’s inexplicable admiration makes it obvious what happened. Somehow Father learned that an Impact could raise the dead, and he became interested in triggering Adam accordingly. After an eternity of isolation, it was all too easy for the lonely god to mistake this attention for love. How perfectly, pathetically human.

But worse than feeling pity for a sentient WMD, Misato actually relates to her father’s motivation. She understands it completely, and she couldn’t feel more conflicted about that fact. There’s no way to repair a relationship with someone who’s dead; there will never be any emotional closure. It just _sucks_ , forever, until you yourself are dead as well. Father clearly saw that he didn’t have to settle for this outcome. He had the power to undo the greatest mistake of his life. Through Adam, he would move heaven and earth to restore the thing that mattered to him more than anything else: his family.

All along, he _did_ love Mom and Misato. And he proved it in the most terrible way imaginable.

“‘No one will have to cry anymore’…” she murmurs. Feeling strangely cold and exposed, she tucks her chin and wraps herself in her arms. “That stupid, self-obsessed son of a bitch……”

Kaworu regards her with tender empathy, but he doesn’t rush to impose his own emotions onto hers. Carefully he considers what he’ll say next. “The desire to reunite with a lost loved one was, indeed, a powerful motivating factor. But it was not the only one. He was pushed into action by _many_ lines of truth converging forcefully upon him. ” He takes a long, deep breath. “Misato-aneue… Akira Katsuragi was a beautifully broken soul for whom I felt immeasurable tenderness. But he was much more than that. He was my ally. The pact we forged was one between kindred spirits. The two of us _together_ were the ones being used — mere pawns on the Patriarchs’ game board. I understand your earlier temptation to draw comparisons, but Father was nothing like _them_. He wanted to create something beautiful in perfect unity with God… with _me_.”

 _Not this shit again_ _…_ “I know Adam _could_ be considered a literal god and all, but you’re acting like Father saw you that way. It still doesn’t make any sense. He was a scientist, Kaworu-kun. Like, _hardcore_. He wore a cross, yeah, but he didn’t _actually_ care about religion — _or_ the woo-woo magical alien version of it. The man was singlemindedly devoted to his ideas and seeing them through. Everything else took a back seat.” An acerbic utterance escapes her. “How the hell do we get from _that_ Akira Katsuragi to one who somehow negotiates an apocalypse pact with the weird life-form he and his team are studying? For that matter, how did somebody like him ever come to see Adam as more than just some object to poke and prod? Father couldn’t even treat his family and friends consistently like people!”

Her brother thoughtfully grasps the bottom of his face, index finger running along the length of his mouth. “Well… it’s as I said: there is much about Father that you never knew. While it might seem strange to you, he was a man deeply preoccupied with his own spirituality. He disliked speaking about it, as he found the matter embarrassing, even trite. He had convinced himself that such things were somehow beneath him. And yet those longings, which so fiercely resisted any kind of definition, never went away. They only grew more powerful over time. Eventually he realized that he had been seeking communion with the divine all along. On his own terms — through his work — not through those which had been previously imposed upon him. Once he discovered this, he felt he had no choice but to accept that part of himself completely.” Kaworu smiles nervously. “After that, it was simply providence that brought him before me.”

Misato doesn’t really get it, but maybe it’s not necessary that she does. “I see. So all of that stuff… That’s the reason for the cross, and for seeking contact with Adam.”

He chuckles lightly. “A significant part of the reason, certainly.” The boy slowly exhales as he studies the polished stone beneath his feet. “I am forced to admit that it may not be possible to answer some of your questions to full satisfaction. Gnosis—” He catches himself resorting to elaborate jargon, and quickly course-corrects. “That is, intuitive spiritual knowledge… It is not something you can simply be given, Misato-aneue. As it was for Father, so too it is for you. In many ways, everything that’s happening now is a journey your soul must take. There is no way around it.”

She doesn’t care about any of that, though. It’s just another distraction. “You said losing Mom wasn’t his only motivation. Fine, I get it. He was also trying to find God, or whatever.” She wrings her hands. “But that still doesn’t explain how he knew how to do any of this, or exactly how Seele figures into this mess, or how you two came to some kind of agreement, or……” She kneads her temples. “It makes my head fucking spin.”

“Seele is a formidable monolith in the present day. At the time, however, there was considerable in-fighting over the organization’s spiritual trajectory — what its goals actually were, and how they would achieve them. Father’s involvement in Gehirn eventually placed him in the crossfire of these opposing ideologies. Lacking the power to stop any conspiracy so inconceivably massive, he threw his lot in with the faction that aligned more closely with his own beliefs and gave him the most agency.” Kaworu’s gaze becomes detached. “Most of the specifics no longer matter.

This is getting more convoluted every damn minute. “Multiple factions within Seele?” She bites her lip. “When you said Father had nothing to do with Seele, you weren’t being completely honest, were you?”

“It was a simplification, yes,” Kaworu concedes. “But it’s also essentially true. This splinter faction did not genuinely consider themselves part of Seele. Their continued involvement in the organization was purely in the interest of subverting the dark future that Seele’s leader — the very same man I would reluctantly call ‘Father’ — had in mind.”

“So Father was working with a bunch of rebels?” Misato scoffs. “That’s _so_ like him. I guess you’re going to tell me that these people had their own plans for Second Impact and they planted Father as the donor to carry them out. Right?” With theatrical flourish, she adds, “ _But little did they know: they had all been set up!_ ”

Kaworu chuckles. “Effectively correct. But, mind you, he elicited the group’s interest in the first place due to being uniquely qualified to serve the donor role. Father’s soul has a high… call it an ‘innate affinity’, I suppose… with mine. That meant, in theory, that he presented the lowest risk of complications, and the highest chance of success. Being the ideal candidate placed him in a very special position.”

Misato raises an eyebrow. “To do _what_? Become a puppet for some cultists? It sounds like he didn’t even _try_ to fight any of this.”

The red-eyed boy gives her a stern look. “Misato-aneue, these men are capable of bending _gods_ to their will. In the face of such insurmountable odds, a mere mortal cannot be expected to work miracles. You know as well as I that if Father had not volunteered himself, the Patriarchs would have simply found someone else. The experiment was beyond his power to stop. As far as he knew, this was his one and only chance to forever obstruct Seele’s misanthropic designs. The last opportunity to seize what little hope remained before all hope was forever lost.” His expression softens. “Despite how flawed he was, and how many mistakes he had made in his life… he still knew himself well enough that he could ensure I would be treated with respect, and that whatever future he had the power to influence into being would be one where the ultimate tragedy was averted. Neither he nor I knew that our efforts were already condemned. The attempt to thwart the Patriarchs was made wholeheartedly.”

She scoffs. “Father doesn’t get a pardon for fucking up the world just because ‘his heart was in the right place’. Intentions don’t matter. Nobody cares about what you were thinking. They only care about the actual outcome of your actions. _That’s_ what you’re judged for. And by that measure, Father was a monster.”

Kaworu smiles, unperturbed. “The same thing may have happened regardless. Then you might be judging him _instead_ for having been placed in a position where he had the power to potentially prevent that outcome, but out of cowardice refused to take it, just so he could avoid having anyone’s blood on his hands. True heroes, Sister, are those who won’t let the risk of being seen as villains stop them from doing what’s right.”

“If you don’t care whether others might see you as a villain, what’s going to stop you from becoming one yourself?!”

The smile remains. “Such sentiments are incredibly nebulous, sustained through little more than a narrowly defined perspective. Consider, Misato-aneue… When you resolved that you would dedicate yourself to the eradication of Adam’s Children, did you contemplate for a single moment how _they_ might perceive your actions?”

 _Oh, no._ Is he finally going to guilt trip her over this? Misato can’t say it hasn’t been long coming, exactly, but she hasn’t been looking forward to it, either…

“In my children’s personal narratives,” Kaworu says, “Lilin like you would be the true antagonists. But why should that have ever been a consideration for you?” Somehow, he sounds _far_ less accusatory than his words would otherwise indicate. “You could only act upon the information you had at the time. Great effort was put into keeping you blind and ignorant. We both know this.” Playfully, he pokes one of her hands with an index finger. “That is why I forgive you. Even though you willingly participated in something that hurt me tremendously, I forgive you. Can you not extend the same forgiveness to Father?”

She’s able to afford him little more than a reflexive grimace. As puckishly persuasive as Kaworu is, the idea of simply letting Father off the hook doesn’t sit well. At the same time, her words from earlier are coming back to haunt her. She’s just like Father — the same well-intentioned idiot who ruins everything she touches — and Kaworu knows it. The only real difference between them is that her own efforts to prevent Doomsday didn’t require ending the world some other way. Until now, that is.

“We cannot let ourselves worry about that past,” Kaworu says, almost irksomely cheery. “All anyone can do now is try to fix the damage in a way that ensures people can keep existing. You and I, _we_ have the power to do something. It would be irresponsible not to.”

He’s trying to make her feel better, but Misato feels herself wavering back to the point of tears. “Why did he have to drag _me_ into this?” As she takes a moment to control her breathing, her eyes gravitate toward the place where the pendant ought to be. “Is that the _real_ reason I wanted to see all Angels destroyed? So that this could never catch up with me?”

Kaworu’s expression is turning somber — and maybe slightly guilty.

“The whole time, he was basically one of you.” Misato expires sharply in disbelief. “I was right, when I thought I wasn’t actually avenging him. But I had no idea how right I was.”

“He married into the family, in a sense. That’s why you’re part of our family, too.”

“My father’s curse…” she murmurs.

“‘Curse’?” He gracefully shakes his head. “ _No_ , Misato-aneue. It’s a gift. You simply have to let yourself see it that way. No other living Lilin on Earth is connected to Adam the way that you are.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this!” Misato cries.

“Responsibilities find their way onto our shoulders whether we ask for them or not,” Kaworu says. “I did not ask for a holy mission that would take billions of years to complete; it was appointed to me. Father did not ask to become entangled in a plot to prevent total apocalypse, but it happened regardless. You did not ask for this, but it is here; this is where life has taken you. Being placed in a position to help decide the fate of countless lives is a terrible burden. But it is sacred, also. A chance to do the ultimate good.”

“I’m not supposed to be at least a _little_ critical toward what you get out of this?! You become God!”

Voice ever gentle, he responds, “I understand why you might be cynical. But please remember that I was supposed to be Lady of Earth in the first place. Lilith took that away and, to add insult to injury, her own children chose to deliberately destroy their mother’s creation — using me.”

“But you _would_ have done it back then,” Misato asserts. “You _would_ have finished Second Impact if nothing had stopped you.”

Kaworu smiles weakly. “It’s immaterial. There are rules to which I am absolutely bound. Such is the power of the tribune… the Key. I was completely powerless unless the established population of successors chose to act through me.” He sighs. “I won’t try to pretend that I don’t have a sacred task that I intend to fulfill. Being able to complete my mission would be the most wonderful thing. The greatest relief. No mortal can comprehend the scale of the dedication required, or the sheer devastation wrought by failure.”

He stares up into the sky, and her own eyes follow. The colors of the clouds and the heavenly vault beyond are already shifting toward dusk. For a moment both lose themselves to repose, letting their thoughts drift along with the painterly patches of pink and purple. But eventually he returns his gaze to her, and his ethereal voice again breaks the silence. “In the end, Misato-aneue, this all depends on you. I cannot do a thing to save this world without you. Certainly, I could make things difficult for my masters. Or I could instead play into their expectations and help them catalyze the birth of their death god.” A long and weary exhalation. “Or I could do nothing at all, and simply die, leaving my soul to whatever fate awaits it. If the Patriarchs found it necessary, they’d have no qualms about salvaging me again, and placing me within a more reliably controllable vessel.”

Misato gives him a sympathetic frown, but there’s little she can meaningfully say in response to his conundrum. Kaworu’s existence is a nightmare that someone like her can’t begin to imagine. Having so much power, and yet being so completely trapped… His intimation that he can’t truly die makes her think about all of those spare Rei bodies, for whatever reason. Depending on how similar Rei and Kaworu really are, maybe the seeming atrocity that Ritsuko committed was actually the greatest kindness someone could gift to that poor girl.

“I cannot disappear easily, Sister. If I don’t use my power for good, and choke Thanatos off, then I will simply be used for evil. And I do not wish for that.” Kaworu tries to smile again, but the distress is clearly evident on his face.

“You’re expecting the Katsuragis to be selfless heroes for you,” Misato says. “But we’re not. I know Father wasn’t, and I wouldn’t be either.” She laughs bitterly. “If I accepted this power you’ve been trying to give me, there’s no way I wouldn’t use it at least a little selfishly.”

“There’s nothing inherently selfish about caring about things that are solely personal in scope. It’s only selfish when that sentiment comes at the expense of all else. Balance in all things is always best. Optimally, your volition would cooperate with mine to produce the best possible outcome. One that generates as much happiness as possible.”

Misato’s mind is awash with possibilities. So many wonderful, terrible possibilities. “Most of the people who died fifteen years ago… They’re gone forever, aren’t they?”

Kaworu offers a melancholy nod.

“But Father is an exception, you said. Why?”

“The conditions at the South Pole keeps him, keeps _all_ those souls, in a state of limbo, awaiting rebirth. If Akira Katsuragi’s soul were allowed to finish traversing the Path of the Sephiroth, he would live again, without question.”

Misato rocks on her haunches. “How long? Until a soul is lost? How long does it take?”

“It’s protected as long as there’s a body.” For emphasis, Kaworu crosses his arms over his chest. “Something for it to hold onto.”

“So Kaji might still be…?” Noting Kaworu’s inquisitive expression, she clarifies, “An old friend of mine. He vanished earlier this month. No doubt in my mind that he was murdered.”

Kaworu’s face sinks in sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Sister.” He takes one of her hands into his, clasping his fingers between hers. “The one ‘good’ thing I can say is that, even if his body was destroyed, his soul should still be in good condition. Intact.”

Misato’s eyes widen, and her pulse abruptly quickens.

“But I would tell you the same thing I told Father,” Kaworu says. “The Impact will bring about a transformation in all living things. Any given person won’t necessarily come back the way you remember them. It’s all up to their own sense of will. If they wish to forget everything… so they shall. For that reason, your willingness to become my Key cannot be entirely contingent on the possibility of successful reunions. Just as it was for your predecessor.”

“That’s fine,” she says. All the years of congealed sadness and anger packed into her slight frame are disappearing. Washing away, one layer after another; turning into froth and blowing away on the breeze. “No matter what happens,”—a look of deepest calm breaks upon her face—“I’d still have you, right?”

And as Misato says that, something emerges from deep within the beautiful, soulful eyes of her father’s doppelgänger: a myriad overlapping shades of loving affection and yearning for connection, and a sparkling constellation of the most human of desires. She reciprocates Kaworu’s gesture, lacing her fingers tightly between his, hoping to feel the blood pumping through him. He’s warm and alive, just like she is, and he’s right here with her — all of him.

With her brother looking so deliciously vulnerable, the desire to prey upon him with her eyes nearly possesses her once more. Quickly she diverts her stare down to Kaworu’s nondescript white sneakers. Studying their contours purposelessly, Misato tries to stumble upon something even a little meaningful to say. “Kaworu-kun… I don’t know what I should do. I feel like I don’t know anything anymore.”

“That’s not true, Sister,” he says. “You’re afraid, but that’s not the same as not knowing.”

Nervously, her eyes start to rove again, but they stop at one of his pants pockets. It’s zipped shut, unusual given his fondness for pocketing his hands on a whim. Is that where he stashed the pendant? “Tell me,” she says. “What would _he_ want me to do?”

Kaworu moves a little closer to her, and a twinkle of eagerness appears in his eyes. There’s something he wants to say or do, but he doesn’t know if he’ll go through with it. Then the hesitation melts away, and he starts leaning toward her. Misato freezes up completely. _Is he actually going to do it??_ Her heart beats faster and faster, pumping desire throughout her body as his face closes in upon hers. He takes the left side of her face into the palm of his free hand, much like his caress from earlier, but somehow even more titillating…

She starts leaning into it herself, expecting the imminent touch of his lips — only to find that his mouth is far away. Instead, their foreheads are touching — that was his intent all along. It’s very intimate, being brow to brow and nose to nose, but it’s not what she truly wants. A tease, is what it is. He’s so close that she can taste his breath intermingling with hers. Kaworu so effortlessly reminds her just how fiercely she wants him. But she can’t have him. Not yet.

Stroking her cheek gently, he says, “You now know what his own hopes and dreams were, Sister. What happens next hinges upon what _you yourself_ wish to do.”

She nibbles lightly upon her lip. “So… if I were to agree to this…” A peculiar sense of excitement is mounting in her chest. Something quite familiar, yet also entirely unique. “What would need to happen? You’ve told me so much, but trying to keep it straight in my head is just—”

Kaworu pulls away slightly so he can better look into her eyes. “Certain conditions would need to be satisfied… same as it was with Father and I. Once that is done, the event you call an ‘Impact’ will initiate. A metaphysical reaction between two souls that unleashes a cascading effect that eventually draws all others into its spire.”

“Once it’s started… can it be stopped?”

“In the early stages, yes. That is what happened at Second, however catastrophically.” A steely confidence appears in his gaze. “However, I have learned much of Lilin trickery since then. The same mistakes will not be made. Those deaths are a tragedy beyond all possibility of full absolution, but I will ensure that the Patriarchs irreversibly erase _no one_ else. The staircase of corpses that leads to their God will get not _one_ step higher.”

“So…” Misato says, “you’re saying that… if I agreed, and then had second thoughts, we could still—”

“Misato-aneue,” he says, gently but decisively, “there will be no turning back. We can only control our own actions. All leeway for error must be reserved not for our own mistakes and indecision, but for the obstacles thrown into our path by others. You must approach this the same way you have fought tooth and nail for survival this entire time. As if you only have a single chance.”

Her body stiffens. “You’re right… I don’t know what I was thinking.” She has to stop and wipe the moistness from her nose. “You have this all planned out, don’t you?”

“As well as I possibly can, given current restraints,” he answers breezily.

“If I refuse to help you… what will you do?” Half-worried, she asks, “Have you thought about that?”

He looks away. “I have, yes. In that scenario, my options are… not good. I would have to seek out another Akira Katsuragi — while your entire world is trying to kill me. No small feat.”

“But still _possible_ , right?”

“I cannot rely upon something I may never find. You are right here, Sister. Our connection exists.” He adjusts his grasp upon her hand as a reminder to them both. “It is real. You know it is real. I know you feel that flame within yourself, same as I feel your energy within me.” Kaworu’s eyes seem to be bursting with an inner radiance. “When you sincerely ask yourself what it is you seek, is the answer actually that different from the possibility I have presented? Or are you simply trying to convince yourself that you ‘shouldn’t’ think like that and you _need_ to want something else? Why continue denying yourself if what you desire is right here? Be resolute, and let yourself seize it!”

Now he brings her hand close to his face, so near to his graceful lips, and she can feel the breath leaving his nostrils. He looks into her eyes solemnly. “Accept who you are, even if it is not who you thought. If you do so…” He offers an awkward, goofy smile. “…you will be in the finest company.”

“If I agree to do this… If I agree to be your Key…” Her heart beats away at her chest with the ferocity of a war drum. “All you’ll do is create the future that Father wanted in the first place?”

Kaworu’s smile turns utterly intoxicating. “If that is your truest heart’s desire? Yes.” He releases her, and rises to his feet. Knees bent, he extends a hand to her. The left.

Misato abruptly flashes back to that decisive moment. With Tsubaki’s help, Father had finally overcome the post-ejection shock and pulled himself together. He came over to where she was — curled up against a wall, hiding her face between her knees and trying to block everything out — and he spoke her name so sweetly, jolting her back to reality. With the same radiant and magnetic smile that Kaworu is giving her now, beholding her with sad yet dazzlingly beautiful eyes she could get lost in, he offered his own left hand to her. It was tightly bandaged, covering the mysterious wound in the center of his palm, and some blood had seeped through the cotton gauze.

Without hesitation, she tightly embraced that hand with her own. It seemed to hurt him slightly, but he didn’t complain. Father led the way ahead and he didn’t let go of her, not once. As they ran for the lift to the surface, she let herself imagine a beautiful future with him where they both escaped. Now, she sees all those unfulfilled possibilities dancing within Kaworu’s palm. Desires both chaste and forbidden churn within her. Alongside all her feelings of desolation and hopelessness, there’s a creative impulse rising up, burning brightly, being drawn out by her brother, this most magical of entities.

“So, beloved sister…” his airy voice breathes, “shall you join me on this journey? Once again tread upon the path blazed by Father, and fulfill the destiny that he could not? You would become the Key that unlocks the Gates to the bright future. One forged in the fires of mutual love, trust, and respect — the greatest Key of all. You would be mine, and I would be yours. For now unto forever.”

Something deep inside her cracks open, and blinding illumination bursts through. Misato finds that, suddenly, she’s able to smile again. The words won’t come; her throat is far too tight. She could cry, but not of sadness — out of joy too inscrutable and overpowering for her fragile body to contain. At last, she provides a firm nod, a hum of affirmation.

_Yes, Brother… Yes, I will become yours._

She drapes her hand over his palm, and his fingers wrap around hers, providing a sturdy grip as she rises. Their eyes remain interlocked throughout. No words can capture the sheer feeling, the total emotional height, of this moment of connection. This moment that feels as if it lasts forever. She is lost so completely in his gentle red orbs, It’s like being lost in his actual soul. No… not _lost_. At home. A place from which all possibilities radiate.

Before Kaworu can bring himself to full height, she gently seizes him by the shoulders and pushes him toward the wall of honeysuckle. With nothing left to impede her, Misato steps forward, bracing her legs against his, and, clutching his face between her hands, she claims the mouth she’s lusted after for as long as she can remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last paragraph here provides a final warning for what lay beyond. Misato has at last crossed the line dividing fantasy and reality, and that has fairly obvious repercussions for her relationship with Kaworu. While I don’t intend to spoil the exact trajectory their heightening intimacy takes — no trigger warnings, in other words — *do* be fully prepared for emotionally challenging material. 
> 
> Also, a reminder in the event there’s any confusion: I am not using the pilots’ “anime heights”, so Kaworu is already somewhat taller than his adult sister. You might wonder why I do this, while leaving in such ridiculously “anime” details as heritable purple hair. The reason is simple. Purple hair is awesome, while Misato orally violating someone who’s short enough to be in grade school makes things so much more gross than they already are. 
> 
> Aneue (姉上) simply means “older sister”. With this chapter, it’s definitively established that when Kaworu says “Sister”, he has actually been saying “aneue” all along (as “oneesan” is not used exclusively for sisters, but is also a generic term of address for younger women). When he switches up his routine and combines “Misato” with “Sister”, I opt not to have him say “Sister Misato” — as that makes Misato sound like a nun or something — and simply leave “Misato-aneue” in Japanese. 
> 
> The “Key” terminology has nothing innately to do with the Key of Nebuchadnezzar. NTE probably just made me aware of the “Key / Gates” analogy, which was backwards-compatible because NGE had “Gates of Guf” first. The analogy is a bit imprecise here, but it still works on account of the Key “unlocking” the Seed’s powers over life and death. 
> 
> More elements from the as-yet-unpublished story arcs of _Crying Man_ (in other words: most of it) are present. The rebel faction of Seele is something I initially invented to smooth out some of the kinks of explaining how and why Second Impact happened, and eventually it took on a life of its own. While they play a *very* important role in CM, I don’t anticipate them being too important here, but you never know. The rather absurd convenience of Akira Katsuragi being both the guy who independently discovers Super Solenoid Theory *and* someone with an improbably high spiritual compatibility with Adam is an element that would be eventually justified in Akira’s own story. 
> 
> There is one idea I have in mind for Kaworu that may need to be abandoned as too unwieldy in written format. That being, he is ambidextrous, and switches between hands depending on which of his “aspects” he is channeling, whether consciously or unconsciously. Essentially: right/female/mother/FAR-Seed and left/male/father/Lilin. (I made Akira a lefty on account of *Eva* not having, to my knowledge, a single canonically sinistral character. As a bonus, left-handedness comes with a lot of cultural baggage that served the character quite naturally.) We’ll see if the idea can still be rescued, I suppose.
> 
> It’s contentious whether or not the souls at the South Pole survive until Third Impact (or if they survive beyond the failure of Second Impact at all). For my own purposes, I reason that Second Impact went about as far as the (Adamic equivalent of the) “primordial ooze” phase before getting aborted, and ever since then it’s just kind of been stuck there. According to this, the souls of Akira et al. are trapped in a state midway between life and death because Adam died before she was able to “reformat” them into her offspring. This is probably what is meant by Kaworu’s comment that Akira would live again after “traversing the Path of the Sephiroth”, now that I think about it… 
> 
> The longer you think about “A soul is protected [from degradation] as long as there’s a body”, the less well it works, since taken to its logical conclusion it means that well-preserved pharaohs and icemen will be coming back after Third Impact, which is ridiculous in a way incongruent with NGE’s very specific kind of absurdity. Just assume that Kaworu is omitting some technical details for the sake of being relatively understandable, and it’s not ACTUALLY as simple as “everlasting corpse = immortal soul”. 
> 
> Some parts of Misato and Kaworu’s exchange take cues from comments Derantor made while helping me through the drafting process of this difficult story arc. As always, all my thanks; their interactions are much enriched by these contributions.
> 
> Honeysuckle was picked for the end solely because there was a wall, I wanted to spruce the scenery up a bit, and I knew offhand that honeysuckle was a vining plant native to Japan. I looked up the symbolism of honeysuckle only later — and, go figure, I couldn’t have picked a more appropriate flower for the occasion… With how difficult writing can be, it’s incredibly satisfying when a story gives you unexpected presents.


	20. Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the space created by a human connection, a radiance emerges.

Her brother betrays surprise, but no fear. No desire to shrink away or shun her. He lets it happen as it will. And… He feels good. _He feels so good_. She can feel him immediately respond to her touch, down there, fierce and hard, and knowing this just makes her want him that much more desperately. She wants to pour herself completely into him, but all she can do right now is cling to him more tightly and kiss him more deeply, fully, sensuously.

In the moment, she doesn’t care about who might see this. She cares only about doing what she knows, with all her body and soul, that she must. This couldn’t wait a moment longer. She had to show her brother how she truly felt. Who she really is. If she is to give herself to him completely within the next couple of days, then she must know that he _accepts_ her completely, exactly as she is now. And she must know before anything else can be allowed to happen.

Kaworu’s freeze response doesn’t last long. Quickly his shock melts away, leaving him strangely relaxed and radiating the same transcendental warmth and affection that tempted her in the first place. She feels his hands move onto her torso in embrace, but there’s a timidity to his touch, as if he’s unsure how he should position himself. Ultimately he ends up lightly holding the outsides of her shoulders, almost clinging to them — it’s rather cute. And he’s trying to reciprocate in other ways, too… He’s trying to kiss her back, but doesn’t seem to quite know how. Misato can feel his tongue pushing against hers, probing deep into her mouth, and something about the way it moves is indescribably alien. Somehow, that just makes it hotter. All his quirks of movement, both obvious and subtle, are a stark reminder that he isn’t really Father. He’s somebody else, an ancient extraterrestrial being that’s shaped like her dad, and she no longer sees any problem with that.

His favorable response prompts her to love him even more fiercely. Her tongue becomes an increasingly savage beast. Her hands wander off his face and onto his body. It takes all the willpower she has to not grab him _there_. They’re technically in public, on private property, and this is already quite indecent enough. If they were caught, Misato could get into a lot of trouble. But that just makes her more excited. Kaworu’s senses are acute enough that he could stop this if he sensed someone coming, right? Does she trust him enough to do that? She trusted him enough to agree to his plan, so not trusting him over a comparative trifle would be silly. So, if she really wanted to, she could feel him up right now, couldn’t she? But, no — some things should wait. She keeps her touch confined to his upper body. Fittingly for one in the image of her father, he seems incredibly sensitive to touch. Father was sensitive to just about everything. As she runs her hands beneath his T-shirt, over his lanky torso and up around his broad shoulders, he gets visibly agitated. He starts writhing against her, just a little. Gripping her more tightly. Maybe she can even hear a low moan emanate from the base of his throat.

It’s too much, it’s all too much. His lower contours are all too obvious, straining hard against her thigh. He wants her desperately — and the feeling is mutual. God, she can’t wait to show him everything. Take him home with her and teach him everything she knows on how to love and be loved. She wants to draw him inside of herself completely and never let go.

Misato finally lets her lips wander away from Kaworu’s mouth, and she starts arcing toward that long and ridiculously tempting neck, moving her head one kiss at a time. Then, at a delay, she finally realizes — there’s moistness on his cheeks that didn’t come from her.

Promptly she pulls backs, only to find that his grip upon her tightens. There’s a nervous desperation in his fingers, like he’s afraid she will slip away, but he says nothing, communicating solely through his face and body. Delicate rills trace down his flushed face. His mouth gapes open with breath so heavy it carries whispers of his voice, his lips are deliciously red, and his eyes are dark with desire. Somehow he looks even more beautiful this way — primed for pleasure, so acutely vulnerable, so capable of compensating for endless years of unfathomable loneliness. Misato has seen tears of misery enough times to know that this is different. Kaworu is emotionally overtaxed with joy he thought he would never experience; there isn’t a doubt in her mind.

The words emerge from her of their own accord, coming from a place beyond conscious thought. “I want to know you, Kaworu-kun. As a person. Not as an endless series of comparisons to Father. Not as a bottomless repository of precious secrets. Just _you_.” His pupils somehow widen even more and his mouth continues to hang open slightly, an utterly dumbstruck expression. Misato gently clasps his face on both sides and presses her forehead against his, imitating his gesture from earlier, and she can feel his body shudder beneath her. “My brother. Adam. And your first life, too. I want to know all of you.”

Kaworu’s eyes, overflowing with both joy and sorrow, gleam like gemstones. “You _will_ , Misato-aneue,” he says, his voice delicately wavering. “When I take you within me… when you become the key that opens the gates of the world to come… that eternal instant of perfect consummation shall be yours.” He pauses then to swallow, throat bobbing. “Just as Father did, you will know the soul of God as if She were yourself.”

 _Consummation_ … The concept tickles the imagination in the best possible ways. So badly she wants to do it right here and now, but of course that’s not possible. She needs to delay her gratification only a little bit longer. Now that she knows Kaworu doesn’t shun an intimate touch, and even responds favorably to it, all has been taken into a comforting aura of inevitability.

Her throat is so thick now that she can no longer speak. Instead, she tenderly takes his hands, frozen into a too-tight configuration, within hers, and she kisses his knuckles, and she wipes away his tears. They stare into each other’s eyes, struggling to find the right thing to say. This whole moment has made her acutely aware of their height difference — as young as he is, and as insubstantial, he’s already about 10cm taller than she is. But she’s okay with that. More than okay.

The calls of crows break up the silence, and Kaworu at last looks toward the sky. “Dusk… The end of another day. One of the last sunsets I may ever see.”

She doesn’t know what he means, not _precisely_ , but the gravity of his words come through. “You should go see it,” she says, “shouldn’t you? Before it’s too late.”

They finally separate fully, and they straighten themselves out. She can just barely catch Kaworu perform a discrete tuck — with all his talk about lounging around in the nude, she’s surprised he even knows about that. Immediately something inside her screams ‘enough!’ and starts to castigate her once more for her perversion. In perfect synchronization with her thoughts, Kaworu’s normally expressive face abruptly becomes a stiff and unyielding mask, and he slowly turns away from her, pocketing his hands. There he stands, perfectly still in the gradually dimming light, in deafening silence.

He hasn’t verbally acknowledged what happened between them, in any way at all. Maybe her perception of what he was feeling was completely wrong. He could be thinking just about anything, and it feels terrible. All that wonderful intensity is swiftly giving way to darkness and shame. The ground is crumbling beneath her.

Suddenly, he says, “With you?” It’s not quite a suggestion. It almost feels like a prompt to get _her_ to say more. Is he as frightened of her thoughts right now as she is terrified of his?

Desire and guilt simultaneously corroding her emotional core, she murmurs, “Kaworu-kun… I’m sorry, I— You should do what _you_ want to.”

He expels a sigh. “Do you not remember what I said? My exact words?” He looks over his shoulder, directly into her eyes. “‘I wish to accept as much of you as you are willing to share.’” And a gentle smile appears upon his angelic countenance.

All the awfulness curdling inside Misato is instantaneously purged. A lightness returns to her, and she reciprocates his smile with gleeful spontaneity. “Come on. I know a good overlook that’s not too far from here.”

***

Slightly north-west up Rt. 138, they arrive at the overlook. It’s not Misato’s usual chill-out spot — the one that provides a perfect view of Tokyo-3 — but the change of pace is nice. She parks the car in a tiny lot at the bottom of a forested slope and they go up the stairs carved into the steep incline until they reach an opening in the trees. There, it seems like the whole world opens up before them. Forested mountain ridges, dyed purple by the setting sun, spread out in all directions, with hints of civilization poking out here and there. From here, a little of Ashinoko is visible — a bluish sliver on the horizon’s edge.

“Beautiful,” Kaworu whispers, earnest as always. He is completely enraptured by the sight, and Misato feels a warmth inside, a very wholesome kind of warmth… With this out-of-the-way spot and its cover of foliage offering at least the illusion of privacy, she doesn’t hesitate to reach for his hand. He seems to have the same idea, and their fingers reciprocally interlace, as they already have several times before.

“I’m glad I could show at least some of this world to you,” Misato says. “I’ve always taken it for granted, but you’re right. It really is beautiful.”

As he stares out over the darkening vista, a look of both fondness and grief creeps into his face. “When I first arrived here,” he says, “Earth was still nothing more than a volatile hellscape. I can’t remember much about those days, but I… I _do_ remember that I ushered this world toward its mature form with nothing more than my will. The will to spread life. The Earth that I saw in my mind’s eye, it would have been a very different world, but no less beautiful than this one.”

Misato can vaguely sense where this is going. “Kaworu-kun, you really don’t have to—”

The red gaze lowers, as if it’s too painful to keep looking. “What happened here all those eons ago was shameful. All this splendor could have existed on its intended world, within its intended star system, capable of thriving to the end of its natural lifespan… free of the pressures of a competing psychosphere. And I…” He squeezes her hand tightly. “I could have simply done what I was meant to do from the very start. Never made to suffer as I have… Never forced to destroy in the name of life.” His lower lip quivers, almost imperceptibly. “Misato-aneue, I don’t want to destroy all the wonderful things that have emerged here. I truly don’t. But—”

She gives his hand a gentle tug. “Kaworu-kun, don’t think about that stuff right now. Just stay here in the moment with me. This was where you wanted to be, right?”

He rubs under his nose, sniffling, and takes a deep breath, regaining his composure slightly. “You’re quite right. Of course you’re right.” He makes himself smile.

A weird thought occurs to Misato just then. Kaworu’s soul is, in effect, a force of nature. Something capable of transforming an entire planet. And there are times when this aspect of him comes through without effort, when he conveys this inherent sense of connection to primordial Nature. But he’s more than that. Not so long ago she was looking for every reason to condemn him, to other him, but it’s just not possible. He’s a complete person. With all the memories he has, he’s more of a person than anyone else she knows. Contemplating the clash between the intensity of her affection and admiration, and how immensely cruel she’s managed to be, the painful, crushing sensation in her chest abruptly returns, tempting her toward self-punishment. “Kaworu-kun…” She stares down at her feet stupidly. “Do you… _really_ not hate me?”

He twitches, apparently not expecting the question. But quickly he recovers, and in a knowing tone of voice he says, “No more than you hate me.” It reads almost as a challenge: ‘ _prove to me just how little hate is truly within you, and I will shower you with love in kind_ ’. He offers a friendly, vaguely impish smile.

A strange urge suddenly overcomes her. “Can you…” She makes herself look directly in his eyes. “Would it be okay… for you to hold me close?” Promptly he provides an earnest nod, and they shift their positions so she can lean against him. He starts to raise his arms up to hold her, but there’s the same timidness as before. “Don’t overthink it,” Misato says. “Just do what feels right. People held each other where you come from, didn’t they?” He releases his breath sharply, and the tension seems to leave his body. Then he does precisely as she asked, draping both his arms sensuously around her shoulders and pulling her closer. Misato gives herself permission to hold him, as well. This time, his body isn’t overreacting, and so it’s easier to keep her own thoughts in check. It’s easier to simply enjoy this for what it is.

She’s not sure she ever consciously acknowledged it to herself before, and it now feels strange that she didn’t, but… he smells like Father. Not in some kind of perverted way. She can’t even really explain it to herself. Right now, embraced by him like this, it feels like there’s a tickling sensation in the back of her brain, and deep memories are being pulled out. Impressions of familiarity and comfort and warmth. Maybe — just maybe — there once was a time when she could go to “Papa” when she was sad, and he would pick her up with his long arms and hold her close against his broad chest. When he spoke gently to her she could feel the vibrations move soothingly through her skin, and if she pressed her ear against him, not far from where his pendant sat, she could hear his heartbeat. A wonderful landscape of touch and sound and smell, existing all for her whenever she needed it… until Papa suddenly became sad and no longer looked at her, and he didn’t look at Mama either, and everything that had once been wonderful was drowned in sadness forever.

People — Haru-san and Aunt Yura and everybody else — always told her, “He’s always been a sensitive guy… but he used to have a real inner strength, too. You were probably too young, to remember how things used to be…” She never believed that it was anything more than others making excuses on Father’s behalf. And yet, at the same time, she always expected more from Father than what he could give her.

She’s not sure how, but she knows that this feeling comes from someplace real. And it makes her sad that she never really tried to understand Father. She never tried to understand why he changed. What made him so sad that he was never the same after that. Of course it wasn’t her fault that she was a dumb kid who didn’t know any better, but she still hates herself for it. She pushed him away. Misato is one of the reasons he ran away from her and Mom and buried himself in distractions. Misato delighted in scaring him back then. All that power over someone who was supposed to be the adult — it was intoxicating. Everyone tried to tell how easy he was to hurt, and she only used that knowledge to hurt him harder. Hurt him deeper.

Misato dares to look into his eyes again, and all she sees now are her father’s eyes, and her father’s smile… Her father looking upon her as not merely his blood, but as someone who can help fill the gap inside him that Mom’s death left behind. Pulling herself ever closer to him, she imagines that he is slightly bigger, slightly more developed, his voice ever so slightly deeper and earthier… In the dimming light that distorts their natural colors, she can pretend that his eyes are actually brown, and that his hair is actually a dark purple with the faintest hint of gray; and that she has known him from birth. She knows that she was created from part of him, and part of her wishes to return to him…

Just a stupid fantasy. Her brother is a powerful reminder of her terrible mistakes, and what she stands to gain by correcting the ones she can. But Kaworu isn’t the same as Father. She knows that. His smell isn’t quite right; there’s something sweet and a little unearthly that’s mixed in with the uncannily familiar. And this close to his heart and soul, she gets another impression from him, one that doesn’t really make sense but is difficult to shake. She thinks maybe she’s felt it before, very recently. The way he’s now gently humming, and has started to caress her hair with a touch both tentative and assured... This feeling of security, so raw and real and absent from her life for far too long, weighs upon her so heavily it wrings emotion from the hardest parts of her soul.

“Come home with me,” she says, tears beginning to run down her face. “You shouldn’t be alone. You don’t have to be alone. Not anymore.”

His embrace isn’t just that of a parent. It’s that of a brother, and a lover, and maybe other things too. He is a god, and he can be all things to her at once, effortlessly. She knows he needs her, but there’s so very little she can be to him in comparison. She’s just herself. But right that moment, he parts her bangs delicately, and he plants a soft kiss in the middle of her brow, as if to remind her that he finds her worthy. Misato’s emotions overflow; she can no longer see them clearly. So she simply cries more.

“Home… A place to return to…” he aspirates in subdued joy. He gently nudges her under the chin so she looks at him again. “If you will have me, Misato-aneue, then I will go. It is only fitting, after all… that before we venture to where I belong, I experience your own abode.”

Misato wants to kiss him again so badly, but that would spoil the atmosphere. She should make this last. “Let’s stay here until the sun finishes setting. Then we’ll head home. Is that okay?”

“It’s perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s taken far too long to follow up on the previous chapter — almost three months now — so for the purposes of reestablishing momentum, I’m forcing myself to publish SOMETHING. Depending on what I manage to write next, this chapter will either be updated into a more developed one, or it will simply be left as-is. 
> 
> The fundamental essence of these two scenes is unified, in a sense. Misato has allowed her barrier to drop completely, and she is so committed to the idea of “becoming one” with Kaworu that the feeling of the moment goes far beyond any concept of lewdness (though sexuality plays a powerful role in all this, of course). What I am attempting to “grasp” is that ineffable sense of the sublime that is created in the space formed by a true connection between two people. As someone who contemplates intimacy a lot, and for whom it does not really come “naturally” on account of ASD and the like, I guess I’m prone to meditating upon such subjects very deeply, That sense of oneness and inner peace that is occasionally found in these very special moments of connection — with another person, or with nature or the universe — is, as I understand it, foundational to spirituality. Pure, natural connectedness… A collection of qualia that has arisen over countless years of biological evolution as the emergent property of our majestically inscrutable nervous systems, every bit deserving of all the wonder and awe it inspires within us and the beautiful things it creates in our world. 
> 
> I suppose, with the ugly underbelly of the modern world that had been there my entire life being violently exposed due to modern events, it’s more important than ever to remember the things about humanity that don’t suck. Maybe it’s already too late, but given the slightest sliver of a chance it’s not, elevating our inner radiance above the darkness that seeks to drag us under is the only sensible thing to do.


End file.
